The Glam Show
by Voyna
Summary: [AU] Two friends marry in order to get to L.A. and try their luck at becoming the next additions to the West Coast fashionistas. However, all beginnings in the Industry are hard. And Hinata's gorgeous, tempestuous asshole of a boss just makes it so much harder. Especially when he decides to break her marriage and catapult her in front of the cameras. GaaHina; SasuIno
1. The Affair

**A/N: This is a very small gift to someone who inspires me greatly and to whom I haven't written of lately for different reasons. I hope that my dear muse, **_**SabakuNoAnjel **_**will forgive me for the long wait of something I told her about months ago. **

**It sure isn't as good as what you write, but I do my best.**

**This first chapter is made of flashbacks and there are certain parts that might repulse some people. Just bear with me. Next chapter should be easier to disgest.**

**If you like it, review. I am always happy to hear from people.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto. **

**The Glam Show**

_Chapter 1_

The Affair

_By _

_Voyna_

**Flashback 1**

Something Yamanaka Ino hated like shit was when she couldn't have a smoke in peace. For fuck's sake, which janitor did she have to do to make sure that during third period, all the female toilet cabins would be empty?

The retching sound that came from one of the cabins just made her temples pound. Someone was having a severe case of the pukes and what did you know, it made her want to join in. And here went the unknown chick's morning rice, oh and something damn liquid too. Someone had had miso soup for breakfast.

Well, you know what? Fuck it, the bitch could vomit as much as she wanted, for all that she cared, Ino was going to have that smoke. If she didn't, she would chop someone's head off and play baseball with it. Since it seems it became the national sport, supplanting sumo fighters, _à la_ Sakura.

Oh come on! She shouldn't be thinking about Haruno Sakura before smoking, she would go through a whole pack at once and the fire alarm would start. On the other hand, being surrounded by sexy firemen, alone in a high school toilet (Miss McPukings didn't count, really) had its charms. Haruno Sakura was most probably the reason she started smoking in the first place. That whore had a way to make anyone go crazy. Sneaky, vicious and conniving, Haruno was picking a fight with the wrong girl. All the rumors she was spreading about Ino might have been partially true, but it didn't mean that she would forgive the slut for daring to cross her.

But then again, the shit they had going on felt weirdly comfortable. Haruno would get Ino bullied, Ino would claw Haruno's face beyond recognition. They said that the lollipop-head had had at least a few plastic surgeries because of Ino's bashing her head into walls and locker doors. But hey, Ino wasn't vindictive by nature; she could recognize Sakura's good sides. For one, she would have made a great sumo fighter.

Another thing Ino wasn't was a murderer. When she heard, the horrid choking noises coming from a stall, she couldn't just keep rummaging through her imitation of a Chanel bag (a lame, cheap-looking one at that) for her lighter. What if the chick just died because a lump of half-digested shit got stuck in her throat? Since the choking noises didn't recede, Ino had a surge of adrenaline going through her veins. Ok, fuck it; she really did have to check on the puking chick.

"Yo, what the hell is happening with you? You dying in there?"

Well that was some great rationalizing. The chick was choking to death, tough luck she'd be able to answer that question. Bending over, Ino started to look under the stall doors frantically.

"Hey, hey, hey, don't fucking die in there!"

Bingo. And what did she see under door number three, the soles of some lame-o school shoes. Okay, now let's just get in. She pushed against the metallic door. Well of course, it would be locked; people usually didn't go to the shits without locking the door. What did an almost-Yankee (as in almost-American, literally) do when the shits were locked? She fucking kicked them in! And that is how Ino's lame-o school shoes came in contact with the stall's door and virtually made it fall out if its hinges.

And there she was. The puking, choking wonder. And behold, beauty! But not really. Oh right, she needed to find a way to make her barf out whatever it was that got stuck in her throat. And how did an almost-Yankee do that? She just hit the back bent over the toilet stool as hard as she could (and trust Yamanaka Ino to have a dangerous righty) and heard a liberating _plop!_ Hallelujah to that. The shivers that had been crossing the chick's back declined before stopping completely. Only the wheezing sound remained.

Sliding onto the tiled washroom floor, Ino passed a quivering hand over her face, not caring much whether she was smudging her make-up. What the fuck just happened? Oh yeah, she saved the life of some black-haired chick that still had her head in the toilet bowl. Was she going to get a reward for that? Most probably not.

"Yo, bitch, get that head of yours out of the shitter and look at your savior. You owe me your life."

Slowly, the girl lifted her head and turned it towards Ino. Ino's breath hitched. Well, well, what did we have there? Blank eyes, the color of milk, met blue ones (those were Ino's). Freak eyes met freak eyes, according to Japanese standards. _Hyūga_. And Ino even knew that Hyūga. Hyūga Hinata, their average ghost girl. She was rich, sure. Who wasn't in their dumb snobbish Tokyo high school? But she was virtually unknown by all, besides Ino, who made it a point of honor to know all her vassals.

Hyūga Hinata was literally a mystery. She scared people. Long bangs always hid her eyes, she had a black cloud always towering her and following her around. The equivalent in cuteness of a lichen-covered rock. The rock could be cleaned and polished though. The Hyūga never wore make-up, never rolled up her skirt, which didn't mean much to Ino. She wore hers long anyways. But there was something eerie in that way she had to avoid people's looks, to stutter whenever something was asked of her and of simply disappear as soon as the classes were over.

And here she was, her enormous, blank eyes filled with tears, her cheeks wet with the same and staring at Ino like a deer caught in the headlights. Hyūga Hinata, her real Hermes bag (her father didn't see it snobbish to shell out a few thousands for his daughter to carry around a genuine Hermes, it seemed) at the side of the toilet bowl, was puking her lungs out in a seedy (as seedy as a prestigious school's toilets could be) stall.

"You bulimic or something?"

Well, gee whizz, girl, don't get whipped into a speaking frenzy! Hyūga mouse wouldn't open her mouth; she just kept on staring at Ino. Who was flashing her thong at her at the moment, with the way she was seated, not that Hyūga was noticing. If you asked her opinion, she preferred Hinata's cousin, Neji. The Earl, as the dumb fangirls called him.

Honestly, Japanese chicks had issues, according to Ino. Some were fuck-ups like the specimen she had in front of her. Others elevated some dumb males to the level of deities. Some like Haruno made it their lives' goal to harass chicks they should. And others, like Ino herself, tried desperately to make themselves seem as hard as rock and as indestructible as titanium.

"You gonna answer, mousy? Or should I beat it out of you?"

Speaking those words, her eye caught something stuck between the Hyūga's Hermes bag and the tiled floor. It seemed to be a long, white stick. And the Hyūga had noticed it at the same time as Ino. Before Hinata could snatch it, it was already held in front of Ino's eyes and examined thoroughly.

A pregnancy test. A positive pregnancy test. Hello, there!

"Congratualtions, Miss Hyūga. It would seem that you are preggers!"

Well, didn't that little comment start a deluge. A horrid wail escaped he little Hyūga and got her to shake like the leaves of a tree in fall. Had Ino cared about the concept of delicacy, she would have learned before how to express herself. And she never truly regretted that lack of knowledge until now. There was something truly pathetic in the way the little Hyūga was holding it.

"Not a welcome news, eh?"

"P-p-p-pl-pl-please … P-p-ple-please … d-d-don't …"

She choked again, but not because of some shit stuck in her throat, besides maybe an overload of saliva. Aw, damn. If there was something more heartbreaking than a little girl bawling her eyes out because she got herself stuffed, Ino didn't know what it was.

"Ain't gonna tell, relax. Am not one for tattling."

Examining Hinata closely, Ino could say that under all that gloominess and besides the freak eyes, the girl wasn't ugly at all. Actually, she was cute, even beautiful. It wasn't really all that surprising that some guy that had a death wish approached her and discovered the diamond under all that mud. And had gotten his bratwurst into her sauerkraut, which led to a cabbage seed developing.

But at the same time, as Ino thought further, looking at the girl fidgeting with the lapels of her jersey jacket, at the way her eyes had to avoid any direct contact with anybody else, she could guarantee there was no way Hinata could get _willingly_ impregnated by some Joe Bloe.

'_Shit. Shit. Shit._'

"P-please, don't t-tell. Please … Don't … tell."

"Oh for fuck's sake, told you already I won't tell."

Letting the pregnancy test slide from her hand, she barely realized what death grip she had had on it. This girl wasn't like Ino, she wouldn't open her legs up for anyone that had something to offer. What did you want her to tell you, Ino was an opportunist. There was nothing too expensive, not even herself. Her _parents_ might have been loaded, but there were other things more powerful than money to get her to wiggle her ass. But this girl wasn't like that. Mousy Hyūga most probably would have made a great catholic nun.

"Hey. Who's the father, just like that?"

Drawing her knees up, Hinata surrounded them with her arms and buried her face into the crook of her left elbow. Ino felt like a bitch for trying to pull the worms out of a girl like that, a girl that wouldn't be able to stand up for herself to save her life. And you know what; Ino didn't care about whether this baby was the by-product of rape, or whatever bullshit could have happened. It was none of her business, however at the same time; she needed to help the girl with the right now. Walking away was not her way to do shit.

"You don't want it, do you?"

Something like a snort was all the answer she got. Let us take that for a no.

"Well, then, you gotta get an abortion, as simple as that."

Didn't that send an electroshock through Hinata's spine! And it also untied her tongue.

"I c-can't. I'll need a parent's permission. H-he can't know about it, h-he will kill me if he knows."

Rubbing her temple, Ino raised her eyes to the pristine white ceiling. This damn high school couldn't have some fungi stains, like every normal building in the world?! Nope, it couldn't, with the tuition they were paying.

There were always ways to get around these types of administrative problems, but someone like a law-abiding little Hyūga couldn't know about that. Obviously the first time she had gotten pregnant. The potential result of an unwilling relation.

"Listen, it's your lucky day. You have an abortion expert here."

At the Hyūga's horrified expression, she had to laugh.

"Relax. Breathe in, breathe out. I am not gonna shove a hanger into your pussy. What I mean is that I know exactly the place where you can get an abortion without daddy and mommy ever hearing about it. It is a private clinic at that, as clean as the inside of a bottle filled with bleach. But it's gonna cost you."

Oho, the little mousy's bleak eyes lighted up as Christmas. There always was a way out when you had Yamanaka Ino on your side. But at the same time, Ino felt her stomach was in knots. Why did she know these types of things? This was not the time to get all Freud on her own ass. Shit about her own daddy and mommy could wait for when she was eighty and an alcoholic. If she lived HIV-free until then.

"I c-can get some from my b-bank account."

Gosh, the chick had a squeaky voice. She was one of the top students of their class, while Ino was ranking right in the mediocre middle, which was already a miracle considering how much she invested herself in her studies. All that to say that little Hyūga-hime surely wasn't all that streets smart. She didn't want daddy-o to know about her trip to the abortionist, commonly known as a gynecologist, and yet she would leave some traces of it on her bank account. Geez.

"Sure, make sure your father gets curious and starts asking questions. Or even better, your cousin."

At the mention of Neji, the Hyūga closed up right away and became as bleak as her eyes. Well, well. Wasn't that an interesting hint about what the relationship between the cousins was!

"You wouldn't have some bling-bling? Tiffany shit, gold, diamonds, Chanel, Hermes, anything. Trust me, the doc I am thinking about will take that for a payment. Nowadays with how chicks are desperate to get such items, they will scratch their eyes out to get them at half price and the old hoot will get more than her dumb abortion is worth."

At once, the Hyūga's facial expression went from blank to suspicious. Well, hello there! The chick finally had her mouse instincts kick in. She would ask the most important question in 3 … 2 … 1!

"W-why would you d-do that for me ..?"

Yeah, good question. Why the hell did Ino care? 'Cause she was a nancy, that's why, and had a huge savior complex. That was some great answer. You look like a knocked-up hamster and it makes my heart go boom-boom with mushy goodness. She was sure the Hyūga would love that as an answer.

"Listen, bitch. I am the only hope you have. When you find yourself in such a situation, you nod and say _thank you_, hoping I ain't gonna resell you to a prostitution ring."

Great way to reassure a knocked-up, panicked and potentially suicidal (who wouldn't be) high-society princess. Well, geez, Ino wasn't her mother or anything. She wouldn't bitch'n'moan if the girl decided she could do it her own way. She would even offer her a rope to hang herself from her living room's chandelier.

"W-where?"

Good, shit was starting to happen.

"Okay, you listen carefully. You know that alley behind the school? Yeah, well, you don't want to be seen hanging out with me and personally you would cramp my style, no offense. We are gonna meet up in that alley after the classes. Bring as much shit you can find, and don't try to mess with the doc, she can recognize fake. Oh, and bring some mainstream clothes that can cover you. You don't want to give the school some unwanted publicity and to be recognized. So you know, no Versace or shit, understood?"

As the Hyūga slowly nodded, Ino jumped to her feet and walked out of the stall towards her purse that was still waiting on the vanity of the bathroom. Fetching a cigarette, she brought it to her lips and the moment she wanted to light it with her pink lighter, the bell rung. Cursing, she threw her lighter and cigarette into her bag, not caring whether it would get crushed.

Turning around and throwing one last glance at the Hyūga, she only mumbled distantly:

"Fix yourself; you look like shit, baby."

And with those last words, she walked out of the bathroom stall, little aware that she had sealed her fate. And that of the little mouse she had found that day. Destiny had this way of making weird shit happen when you expected it the least. Maybe if Ino had never started to smoke, she would not have met knocked-up Hyūga Hinata and become the most used face of _Vogue _magazine a few years later.

The next afternoon, the two girls met up as had been decided. When Ino saw a white and lavender shape dressed in some outrageously disgusting black sweats, she couldn't refrain from pointing her finger and laughing hysterically. Under the heavy lavender hood that was covering her face, Hinata was blushing furiously.

Sending Ino a begrudging glance, she scanned her from head to toe. Yeah, well, way to make sure they got noticed big time. There was nothing more breathtaking than Yamanaka Ino in her everyday clothes. A tight black camisole with a shockingly revealing décolleté, a terribly short denim skirt, barely covering her butt, and high-heel sandals that made an already very tall Ino tower the street. She wasn't going for the kawai style, that was for sure. The way her naturally-golden hair was pulled into a high ponytail, her deep blue eyes were sending lightning around her as the two walked, in other words everything about her, screamed of sex.

For Hyūga Hinata, Yamanaka Ino had always been a sort of frightening mystery. She was a known delinquent. Well, as delinquent as top private high schools could produce. And she was weird-looking, a freak. Just like Hinata. With her angular face, her slanted blue eyes and electric blond hair, she was a strange contradiction. The meeting between West and East. She was definitely Japanese by the bone-structure of her face. But the color of her eyes and hair and her height that made more than one guy startle made her play in a completely different league. And no wonder no one really liked her.

But at the same time, Hinata admired her. Unlike herself, Yamanaka Ino did not take shit from anyone. She would have thrown a teacher out of a window if she had ever felt it necessary. And the way she walked at the moment, so self-assured, dressed as she saw fit, not caring for the shocked looks that followed their little march, made Hinata only envy her more. Little did she know at that moment that their meeting in the toilets had sealed their fate and that Hinata would always walk by Ino's side from that day on, following her every step, wherever it took them.

Pointing at what seemed like a high-class clinic; Ino simply indicated that was the place. Hokage Tsudnade, M.D., gynecologist. Well didn't that sound encouraging, but what choice did Hinata have? It shouldn't have happened the way it did in the first place and she couldn't do very much beside follow her classmate into the building. They were welcomed by an amiable woman who took Ino's name and asked them to wait for the doctor who would be available soon.

And before they could even park their butts, something alike an ad for Wonderbra strolled out of a room and planted itself right in front of Ino. Tsuande was grand, to say the least. Her rack was most probably listed in the Guinness Book of Records.

"You again?! You know, condoms are less expensive than a fucking abortion."

Did the doctor just use the f-word?! Hinata was starting to feel terribly dizzy. After all, she wasn't all that sure this was a good idea.

"Yo, old hag, this ain't for me. It is for my mousy, here."

With a movement of the head, Ino indicated Hinata and all the attention of the surprising doctor got focused on her. Cue to her starting to tremble.

"She can pay or ..?"

Of course. This was all about the payment. The world was about money, Hinata should have known that by then. Fastening her grip on her average-looking duffel bag, she tentatively nodded her head, wondering whether what she had brought would be sufficient for a payment. Surely, all the items she had brought were expensive, but they were everything but extravagant.

Arching a perfectly groomed eyebrow, the doc just shot a glance at the duffel bag.

"You are going to be paying with bling, eh? What did I expect from that delinquent's friends?"

"Oldie, cut the crap and let us vacuum her cookie jar so I can get out of here."

Hinata knew she would get out of that clinic traumatized and worried, and so she did. However, under all that pain, that feeling of betrayal, she did have, for a few minutes, someone to rely on. And that was more than she had ever had in her lifetime.

As they walked through the fashionable streets of Tokyo, heading to the closest subway station, Hyūga Hinata strangely wondered what it would feel like to have her hand held by Ino's. Whether that would bring back those feelings of childhood, when she was in kindergarten and always held the hand of a friend during field trips. When she had had friends and could easily laugh.

Ino's perfectly manicured and creamed hand was dangling by her bony hip, so near that Hinata could reach for it. She didn't feel good; she felt horribly empty, horribly alone and she wanted someone to hold her hand hard, to crush her bones and make her cry from pain. And before she could stop herself, her hand had reached for Ino's who turned her head swiftly back to view what it was that had dared interrupt her thoughts.

In any normal situation, she would have snatched the hand away and potentially punched Hinata. How weird was that, two chicks holding hands in the middle of a Tokyo-style crowd, with the late-afternoon sun in the background. Come on. But the other girl's expression told her to do something uncharacteristic for once. And so, instead of snatching away her own hand, she just grabbed Hinata's and held onto it for dear life.

And that is how they walked on. Two girls, holding each other's hand. Both were sickly slender and too tall to pass unnoticed, both were too strange. Maybe for the first times of their lives, those two girls felt like they were part of something, not only the outsiders of a world that didn't really want them.

At the subway station, they parted ways without a word. Hinata carried her now empty duffel bag back home while Ino was swaying her hips ever so softly and walking away as the Greek statue that she was.

Hyūga Hinata had been fifteen years old when she had gotten an abortion. She hadn't told anyone.

**Flashback 2**

Sure, it would have been expected that all of a sudden the ghostly Hyūga and the dangerous Yamanaka would have become inseparable friends. All normal people that went to the gynecologist to get an abortion and then walked through the city hand in hand would develop at least some type of mutual acknowledgment. Well, geez, neither of them could be called normal, could they?

Concerning Ino, she was a blooming 17-year old bitch with an attitude. Her circle of friends and herself had the average love-hate relationship. However, with age came experience, and what had previously been the games of children had become quite serious. Haruno Sakura and Yamanaka Ino had been in a true feud that would lead to catastrophic consequences. Eventually.

Hinata on the other hand had kept her life the way it had always been, inexistent. People still ignored her and tried to avoid by cautiously circling around her. No one cared for her, no one touched her. Her little cocoon was as comfortable as could be. However, even if she had been reassured by the fact that her little stint at the abortion clinic had never been discovered, she couldn't just do as if nothing had ever transpired between Ino and her.

Even if the two never talked or seemed not to even know each other, Ino never followed that ridiculous habit of trying to avoid passing by Hinata. She would just walk by her, acknowledging her with a glance. That glance was full of meaning for Hinata. A way to say that her secret was still sage and would remain so.

And so she lived on. But that very morning, when she had stepped into class gleefully (not that anyone would notice that), holding her bag to her chest and advancing towards her desk, as her classmates chattered on, laughed and chaffed one another. Her hair had grown and gave her an even gloomier aura so much so that sometimes her peers swore they felt a cold shiver whenever she walked in. But she didn't mind, she liked it that way. The peace and loneliness. She really did.

With utter care, she laid her duffel bag on her desk and turned her eyes to the clock above the classroom's door. She did have enough time. Her heart beating in her throat, it is with shaking hands that she retrieved a magazine. It had quite a bold cover of a provocative woman in black and white and was made of that wonderful glazed paper that spoke of quality. This little heap of glazed paper was the only reason she made it through the month. She lived for this.

She would have all the time to browse through the techniques, to read the interviews, to drool all over the ads later. Now was all about instant gratification. What she wanted was to see the results of the contest. Desperately leafing through the magazine, she did manage to attract the worried glances of some of her classmates. Never mind that!

Finally, as she got to the page she had been looking for, she almost fainted. Or worse, vomited all over herself. First place was Hiraoka Kimitake, with a black-and-white of some Kyoto punks chaffing around and sticking their tongues out. The picture was virtually flawless. The lighting, the pose, the angle. She couldn't but feel amazed at how lively the models looked and wonder how any photographer could be able to give such a sense of neatness and union to such an unruly ensemble. She had never been one for human models. The second place was a photo of Tokyo, colorful in the evening, with a throng of people walking like robots in one directions while fast sports cars drove by in the night leaving colorful trails of light behind. Pretty cliché as concept, but the picture truly was flawless when it came to technique.

And then, the third place. The third place obviously was not an exhibit of experience. There was nothing neat or harmonious about that photograph. A young hand had taken in. Not someone with life experience or someone in the industry, definitely. Not someone that sold. It was a simple black-and-white of Tokyo taken from what must have been the top of a building. It showed a much less glamorous side of the city, all grey in the morning and very alike a woman that just woke up. Untidy, unruly and with potential bad breath. But, there was something about the way the city gave in to the camera that had taken it. It made love to it.

Third place, Hyūga Hinata, Title: _Industrial Imperium_. Had Hinata been one to cry out with joy, they would have heard her all the way to Okinawa. This was it; she had broken through the underground exhibits, she had made it into the light of the day. She would not be an anonymous, marginalized photographer anymore.

And as the realization hit her, she was not anonymous anymore. The underground scene was good, those were artists, smuggling in weed, going through restaurant and supermarket trash and potentially sleeping in the streets. But as soon as you became known, your name was out there. There wouldn't be anyone that read photography magazines working for her father? Surely not, there wouldn't.

What had gotten into her, sending one of her photographs under her real name? That is what she had wanted to do and still felt this wonderful sensation of rebellion curling in the pit of her stomach. Yes, she had wanted to scream her name out to the world, she had wanted to get out of anonymity.

A crashing sound made her snap out of it. In front of her apocalypse had started. An attractive girl with the most extreme main of bubble-gum pink hair was screaming her lungs out at a six-foot something giant. Haruno Sakura was picking a fight with Yamanaka Ino again. But this time, it was close to an earthquake.

"We all know you get paid for the fuck, Yamanaka. I wonder what your rate is actually. How cheap are you, you filthy cokehead, huh? You get enough to pay your daily dose of snow?"

Snow? Fuck? Rate? What the hell was going on?!

"You want me to kick your face in again, Haruno? This time though not even the best plastic surgeon will be able to reconstruct you."

Hinata's ears started to buzz. The fight did end pretty fast without her having followed it and class did start. But a certain feeling of uneasiness persisted. There was something truly vicious in the way Haruno Sakura had to publicly attack Ino, something calculated and perfectly set. This was not going to simply stop and die down as their previous conflicts had.

And since Hinata seemed to have a death wish these days and also since she did have somewhat of a debt towards Yamanak Ino she took quite a shocking decision for a mousy like herself. She decided that stalking, yes, stalking, Haruno Sakura could be a good way to gather information about her. Just in case. And well, she did have to take some new pictures for some underground expo. She wanted something murky, bleak, maybe have a walk in the sex quarters. And that was maybe a little too bold for her.

Following Haruno Sakura had truly been one of those ridiculous loss-of-time situations where a girl was just too average to present any intellectual interest. Sakura could be summarized in one word: shopping. That was all she did virtually. That and buying magazines. _Vogue_, _Cosmo_, _Entertainment Tonight _and other American bullshit. Why she did that? Most probably because she had too much money and too little imagination.

At least, Hinata had believed this to be a loss of time until one night. She had planned on leaving her guard in front of Sakura's home, since 8 o'clock in the evening was truly not the hour to be patrolling one of Tokyo's chic suburbs (lucky it was one of those almost-summer days and there still as a lot of light outside). And what did you know? Sakura had marched out of her home dressed as if she were going for a Playboy shooting. Yup, yup, it was finally becoming interesting.

That is how Hinata had found herself hiding in some seedy alley, her professional camera snuggly fitted in her hands, taking shots of Haruno Sakura waiting in front of a Love Hotel, in the middle of the sex quarters of Tokyo.

Great, as soon as she was done with the lollipop-head she would be able to fight for her life and maybe, if she stayed alive and with her panties around her hips, she would be able to take some shots.

'_No. Way._'

Hinata's breath hitched as she took some more pictures. Sakura didn't remain alone for a very long time. The lucky guy she had been waiting to get her through the doors of that _high-class_ (aka seedy) Love Hotel appeared out of the blue. _Click! Click!_ Some more pictures.

"Come on, mister, just turn around …" Hinata breathed in the dark.

And so he did, and before she could stop herself and let her jaw drop to the floor, her finger was frantically pushing a button and making as many shots as could be made. She regretted not having put it on automatic or having brought her flash with her. Had she only known!

But before she could even realize what she had seen, Haruno and her boy-toy had entered the hotel and disappeared from Hinata's reach. Well, the good news was that she had enough to drop the equivalent of an atomic bomb on their classroom. _Har har_, Hiroshima jokes. The bad news was that if she did not hurry her ass, she would miss the last subway and remained stuck in this place. And she was somehow doubtful she would reach the morning alive if she didn't get into that subway.

The next morning, it was a drowsy Hinata that had walked through the door of their classroom. She had spent the whole remainder of the night in her dark bathroom, developing photographs in her bathtub. She knew Neji would awaken to the smell of all the regents she used. She had fled before he had the time to do something to her. After all these years of general calm, she still had that fright of her cousin that poisoned her life.

Now, in her bag, with the photography magazine, she had a bunch of eight by ten photos, more compromising than something out of _Entertainment Tonight_. She had to show Ino. However, truth being said, she did not have the courage to so recklessly approach her in the middle of class. She wouldn't want to cramp her style, as Ino had once said. She would wait after classes, Ino left later than the rest of the students anyways.

It was with giddy excitement that Hinata had sneaked through the ranks of lockers once the school had been deserted and squatted in front of what she knew to be Ino's locker, her back to the door. She couldn't wait to show her what was in her large envelop. She thought she heard her voice, talking with someone.

As the voices got nearer and nearer, they also got louder.

"What about the fucking abortions you had? How many were there, Yamanaka? 3? Yeah, you think I didn't know about those?! Well guess what, you whore, I bet I could find all the guys who fucked you and make them give us some testimony. You'd like that?"

"What the fuck is your problem, Haruno? It is about Uchiha again, isn't it? Well, yeah, I fucked him. I did give him a wild ride and he loved it. But guess what, that happened three years ago, get over it. He wouldn't have taken you anyways and you know it. You should settle down for your puppy, that Uzumaki shit. Uchiha is in the US making a name for himself."

Haruno's voice got shrill with hysteria.

"Yeah, he might be. But you are here! I just wonder for how long once I am done with you."

Hinata obviously couldn't keep on listening to their trash talk. Ino had had abortions as well. That is why she had helped her, some years ago. She had known what it felt like. And Hinata could not let Haruno Sakura defile someone as nice as Ino had been to her. She had to fight back. But she was scared. What if Haruno started bullying her instead? What if she blew her cover and everyone started looking at her?

"You filthy, bug-ridden whore, you are going to pay for it …"

Enough. Hinata jumped to her feet and run out from behind the rank of lockers to face Haruno Sakura. From behind Ino, with as much courage as she could muster, she whispered:

"H-Haruno-san, please l-leave Yamanaka-s-san alone …"

As soon as she heard a known voice, Ino whipped her head around to stare at the ghostly apparition that was the tall Hyūga Hinata. Gosh, that chick could give a demon a scare. With her head bowed and all that thick black hair falling in front of her face she looked like something right out of _The Ring_ or _The Grudge_.

"What the fuck is this? A convention? Hyūga, that's your name right? Get the fuck out of here before I take care of you too, you freak."

"Y-you can't. Or e-else …"

A demeaning snort escaped the pristine and perfect Haruno Sakura. She smacked her pink lips in disgust.

"Or else what, bitch? Do you fucking know what I am going to do to you first thing in the morning?"

Mustering up all the little courage she felt was left in her; she slowly and tentatively crossed the distance between herself and lollipop-head, under Yamanaka Ino's baffled stare. With shaking fingers, she opened the envelop she had been holding to her heart and retrieved picture by picture, flashing them in front of Haruno's eyes. As the pictures were dropped to the floor, the beautiful porcelain complexion of the bubble-gum haired girl became greener and greener until in a wail of hurt anguish she fell to her knees and started frantically picking up the pictures.

"T-those are just some copies … I have them in s-so many c-copies, that you would s-spend a lifetime p-picking them up. You e-ever do something to Yamanaka-s-san and I will make sure that you w-will never want to g-get out of your house again."

As soon as she had gathered all the pictures she could reach, Haruno stood up and ran away, her eyes full of tears. Truth being said, Hinata did not feel good about what she had done, but at the same time she could not imagine what would have happened if she had not done something to help Ino. Sakura was not known to throw out threats without following up on them. And there would be no need to do anything with those pictures besides keep them in a safe place, just in case. She wouldn't let them leak, for sure.

As a heavy hand placed itself upon her right shoulder, she jumped and turned on her hips, to be welcomed by the most flashy smile she had ever seen. Gosh did Yamanaka Ino have perfect white teeth.

"You know what? You, Hyūga, are a fucking badass. You should let the lion in you roar more often! That, just there, was grand."

Walking around Hinata she bent over and picked up a picture that had lodged itself under a locker. Raising it to her eyes, she let a low whistle escape her. Hinata wasn't sure but she thought she heard her mutter something along the lines of _atomic bomb_.

"You took this pic?"

Turning the photograph around, she showed Hinata a pretty fetching scene of a young, pink-haired girl and a middle-aged man, holding hands, faces turned towards the lens as if sensing someone was spying on them while they walked towards the flapping doors of a Love Hotel.

As Hinata nodded, Ino's eyes lit up like Christmas and her mouth slowly stretched into a worrying predatory smile. Cue to Hinata shivering. Little did the mousy know that Yamanaka Ino just had the idea that would kick them into a sphere of life that Hinata had never dreamt about, least of all yearned for.

"You're good, mousy; you're damn good at this. Almost a professional …Who would've thought that Haruno got stuffed by the math teacher. But hey, where did you come by that talent for photography? You could publish this shit."

Aw, come on, no one was immune to some flattery, especially when it came from a vulgar spirit such as Ino's. Hinata must have been real good if even someone like Ino, who couldn't have an idea about what a good shot was, could recognize it. Or she was really mediocre but Ino wouldn't have known the difference. Fuck that, she very much felt like blushing and bragging a little bit of her own.

"Oh, I always liked p-photography. Actually I j-just got my first published s-shot. I was third in a Japan w-wide contest …"

It felt so strange to have someone to tell this. She knew Ino wouldn't speak if she asked her not to. Ino had already proven extensively that she could keep delicate secrets. However, the strange, penetrating and unpromising look Ino was giving her did make her heart beat faster and her mouth go dry. There was something seductive in those deep blue eyes that seemed to be lighted from within.

Walking towards her, Ino gave her the most alluring smile she could. Oh, how this mousy was easy to read and honestly, she would have never thought how useful it was to do one good deed in one's life and have it remembered forever. Yes, Hinata would be a useful mousy. And maybe, just a little, did Ino feel lonely and wanted to have a friend who would do crazy things for her (like stalking a real bitch all the way to a Love Hotel and taking snapshots of her little escapade, for example) without asking anything in exchange.

Grabbing the Hyūga's small, fine hand she darted towards her locker.

"Let's get your bag and run for it. I ain't gonna be late."

Pulling Hinata violently along, with a giddy laugh, Ino just wondered whether shit would be ok after all. She was one lucky bitch, wasn't she? Whenever she wanted something desperately, it had this way of falling into her lap. She felt like howling to the school's ceiling.

"W-where are we going, Yamanaka-s-san?"

"Drop that _Yamanaka-san_ shit, the name's Ino. Remember it well. You'll hear it every day in a few years from now. Let's go, hurry, hurry. You'll have the immense honor of making me dinner tonight. The oldies are off to some business trip in France and won't be back for a few weeks and I am sick of eating ramen."

And so, after having nipped Haruno's plans in the bud, they ran away into the afternoon. One was giddy in a very opportunist way the other simply relieved that she did not get her teeth punched out by a rabid crazy-woman. Little the two of them know, where this discovery of Hinata's hidden talent for photography would lead them to the other side of the world and that they would become paper dolls, glazed dreams for naïve little girls. And honestly, at the moment, the only thing they did care about was how to catch the earliest subway they could.

**Flashback 3**

It was amazing how Ino could be vain, honestly. She went about staring at herself critically in nothing but a cotton thong. A girl that had a huge Italian Renaissance mirror in her room could be nothing least of obsessed with her appearance. But at least, the good with Ino was that she wasn't all conceited about it. On the contrary, she seemed pretty insecure, always looking for a flaw to correct with plastic surgery.

Lying on Ino's princess-pink carpet, Hinata leafed through the pages of the latest _Vogue_, examining the ads with the same critical eye Ino used to examine herself. It didn't feel strange anymore to have Ino prancing naked all around her. In fact, it felt strangely pleasurable.

Yamanaka Ino had one of those perfect bodies that enticed anyone, without discrimination based on gender or sexual orientation. There was something contradictory about how the fine bones of her face, shoulders, elbows, wrists and hips stood out, so much so that their color could be almost seen under that flesh so thin and pale, while at the same time the flesh on her breast, rear and lips was full and inviting. There was nothing more provoking to Hinata than when a long strand of pale hair would slide down her shoulders and come lodge itself between Ino's breasts.

No wonder Yamanaka Ino was able to use that body as a weapon against those with taste. But there weren't that many men that did have the courage to pursue her taking in account that with her one hundred eighty-two-centimeter height, she towered almost every Japanese man and that she certainly wasn't cheap. You wouldn't get her on her knees unless you had something big to give her (and it had nothing to do with how endowed you were). Something that she could use to move further.

Irritated, she turned towards the Hyūga sprawled on her carpet.

"_Vogue_ is shit, look at the _Los Angeles_ magazine! He's in it. For fuck's sake can you imagine he made it?"

Hinata simply kept on staring with amazement at Ino's silhouette. Had she known anything about angels beside what she read about _Victoria Secrets_ she would have believed Ino to be one. Noticing her admiration, Ino let that slow, lazy smile spread across her lips and her eyelids fall ever so slightly.

There were some conquests that were truly more flattering than others. Some guy she could get to look at her in such a way anytime. But having Hyūga Hinata, the girl that had been smitten with that douchebag Uzumaki Naruto, staring at her with carnal appreciation was a real ego-booster. She could conquer anyone and everyone, Ino knew so much now. And little did she care that it was the artist in Hinata that she was in fact enticing.

Snapping out of it, Hinata let _Vogue_ begrudgingly slide from her fingers. And she was looking at this amazing Dior perfume ad, too. But to humor Ino, since she honestly didn't need a full blown atomic explosion, she grabbed _Los Angeles_ magazine and went directly to the page she knew would give her a major depression. The list of the most promising fashion photographers. Knowing her name wasn't in it would give her a huge case of the envies.

And of course, who was number one on the list? Uchiha Sasuke, a Japanese prodigy, only eighteen years old. Yes, he had made it big. However, he wasn't there yet. Hinata simply had to turn the page to see the face of the moment. And she wondered who it would be this year. Who was the talent of the year? Nonchalantly turning the page, she was greeted with the most fascinating face she had ever seen. High cheekbones, thin lips, a shock of short vine-colored hair and those eyes! Eyes so pale, ever so pale, of a strange aquamarine color, so close to her own. But his eyes were rimmed by black circles, those one gets when they don't sleep and smoke cigarette after cigarette looking for their inspiration.

Who was he? Gaara Sabaku-No (Gaara being his little name), twenty years old, mother Spanish supermodel, father Egyptian investment banker, brother rock star and sister known model. The discovery of the century, an artist, a genius. He made love to the camera and the models alike, so they said. And maybe, maybe one day she would have her face sprawled in such a magazine as well … she hoped not, she was far from ornamental, especially when compared to that lot of pretty boys.

She had never thought about it seriously. Becoming a photographer, that is. Especially not a fashion photographer. That wasn't her domain. She would study Economics at the University of Tokyo as her father had, as her cousin did and as her younger sister would.

"You know that would be a waste" a soft voice whispered by her ear, blowing into it.

She jumped and realized that Ino was sprawled beside her, her lips millimetres from her ear. She was so close; Hinata could breathe in her fruity perfume. Softly tilting her head towards Hinata, Ino let her cheek rest on hers. She had gotten to understand and know Hinata, to feel protective towards her. And worried.

"For fuck's sake, bitch. Don't look at me with those eyes of yours. I always know what you're thinking. You're thinking about your father. You know you gonna go crazy at TokyoU, you know it ain't no place for you. You were made to be behind the camera."

Turning around, her naked body exposed to the ceiling with its ridiculous princess-chandelier, Ino let a sigh of contentment escape her. She still had dreams. And Hinata just became intrinsically mixed to them. It was amazing how fast Ino got hooked to Hyūga Hinata, to the point that she needed her as much as she needed her daily dose of coke.

"Y'know what would be my dream? You behind and me in front of the camera. Together, forever."

Hinata chuckled, turning her eyes to Ino's face, admiring her cheekbones, the side of her strong, straight nose. It was strange how she could feel at ease with someone, when she, Hyūga Hinata, had never had anyone close to her, anyone to rely on.

"We already have that, you k-know. You behind and me in front of the c-camera."

Ino's breathing became erratic at once. She fucking knew what that meant. It couldn't be.

"I c-chose the one that were as f-flawless as could be. You know it is always m-more difficult when you d-don't have all the material necessary. But they aren't too bad."

Jumping into a squatting position, Ino grabbed Hinata by the ears and almost screamed to murder of joy.

"Where, where, where, where?! Fucking where?!"

Letting Ino's joy take over her, Hinata forgot how strong her grip was on her ears and let a river of laughter wash over her.

"Ow, ow, ow. Stop it, Ino. It's in m-my bag, m-my b-bag! Let go of m-my ears."

And so she did let go and jumped, virtually naked, onto Hinata's bag and tore it open in a frenzy. And there it was. A black, leather-bound portfolio, the type that fitted eight-by-ten photographs and that models brought with them on go-sees. On its cover a name was stamped in gold Latin letters. _Ino Yamanaka_.

Falling inelegantly on her butt, she all but started to cry as she leafed through the portfolio. The girl she was seeing was not herself, or better to say it was herself. The real her. Without make-up, without the attitude. The vulnerable, sweet Ino in some candid snaps. The arrogant, ominous one in others. Ino through all her emotions. Walking in the street, back to the camera. Barefoot in the kitchen. Clad in a simple white dress, seated on the living room couch and pensively looking through a delicate window. How many classes did they skip (with Hinata keeping her marks on the top), how many tantrums of Hinata did she have to go through (Hyūga Hinata was a hysteric screamer and a hefty insulter)!

And just how many photos did Hinata take, develop in her bathroom under a horrible red light, surrounded by acid fumes and then discarding thousands of them to just keep what was precious. But more importantly, greater than everything, greater than the opportunity she was being handed by having a portfolio always at hand, was how the photos looked. They were not the standard portfolio pictures of beginnings; bleak and shallow only meant to underline a girl's physique. They were pictures one would look at in magazines. Sure, your average body and head shots were included but there was nothing average about them actually. This was the way Hinata saw her, experienced her.

And one day the world would look at her with those same eyes, she knew. And she would be loved. Then she would be loved.

Done leafing through her portfolio, Ino jumped to her feet and motioned for Hinata to stand up. Since Ino was not one to be refused, especially when her eyes gleamed like those of a cat in the night, Hinata did carefully raise from the ground. And before she had the time to realize what was happening, a soft pair of lips were plastered across her own. She knew she should have taken a step away, ran away, screamed, hit, clawed. But, she didn't. Her eyes remained big in confusion, her heart beat in her throat, her stomach was all in nods, however she did not pull away from Ino.

In the end the two of them were the same. Two little rich girls, fucked up in their core looking for nothing but some affection, some love to make them feel less like disposable teens.

As she took a step back, her eyes gleaming like diamonds, Ino softly raised a hand to touch the base of Hinata's neck. How Hinata seemed small to her and yet giant to the rest of the world. At one seventy-eight, Hinata was easily the height of an average Japanese man. The skin under Ino's hand was perfectly supple and soft, however what truly was of interest was what Hinata was hiding under her always oversized clothes. Her hand on Hinata's shoulder told her that there were more bones than flesh to be discovered under all that fabric.

Ever so delicately, her eyes riveted on Hinata's, Ino started unbuttoning the white school blouse, careful not to touch the fabric underneath it. It was a wonder why someone like Hinata always wore such large blouses over layers of long-sleeved shirts, as if in a constant freeze. Winter or summer, Hyūga Hinata always looked from afar like the freaking _Michelin Man_ with slightly less rolls of fat (not that she wasn't trying). But Ino, Miss Shallow, knew better than to believe what her eyes saw at first glance.

And so as the blouse slid over Hinata's shoulders to reveal an oversized white shirt, Ino had no qualms at grabbing the hem of said shirt and pulling it over Hinata's head without ceremony. But with a great deal of struggling. The charm was broken and the shy, prude Hyūga became aware of the fact that she was being stripped bare. Flawing arms and the muffled screams of a butchered pig were Ino's response. In the end, since it is Ino we are talking about, she did end up with the shirt in her hand.

Hinata's porcelain skin became tomato red, one could have fried and egg on her cheeks. Her arms folded defensively around her chest, she would have rather been road-kill than being driven over by Ino's critical glance.

Shivering ever so slightly, Hinata threw Ino what she believed to be a reproachful glare while Ino, lower lip between her perfect pearl-white teeth, had to muster all her self-control not to explode with laughter. And it wasn't Hinata's body that was bringing all that mirth, but that prudish attitude that Ino had always been devoid of.

"C'mon, now, don't look at me as if I killed your dog, for crying out loud. Come here."

Motioning over to her, a partially naked Hinata approached a mostly naked Ino, because … curiosity killed the cat. She had never truly been able to say _no_ to that overflow of energy (that was mostly due to an abuse of cocaine that came from God knew where). But most of all, she needed to be loved by someone as extravagant, lively and beautiful as Yamanaka Ino. The closest she could ever get to Uzumaki Naruto, he knew.

Turning her to the Venetian mirror that she had imported from Italy, Ino softly unfolded Hinata's arms.

"Look at yourself."

"N-no."

A soft sweep of her hair, left Hinata's shoulder unprotected from Ino's bite. As her teeth sunk into Hinata's shoulder, the Hyūga let out a whimper of pain. Passing her tongue over the wound, Ino shot a threatening glare to the girl in the mirror. She disliked being disobeyed.

"Your reflection won't bite your ass, just take a look."

Nuzzling her neck ever so softly, after the stringent bite, Ino's deep, lazy voice sounded seductive and dark. She was the type of woman that could pervert a saint and sanctify a sinner. Whenever she desired something, it is as if she were able to enter that person's brain and from the inside, manipulate him or her into doing whatever she damn well pleased. And so, hypnotized and dizzied, Hinata did as she was told.

Carefully, cautiously, her eyes raised to those of the reflection. And she did look at herself, tears threatening to fall down her dark eyelashes. She would never be able to see any beauty in her bony shoulders and arms, in her ribs that stood out obscenely under that waxy white skin. However, the clairvoyant eyes of a Yamanaka Ino could acknowledge a potential rival in her dearest and most loved _friend_.

With her chin settled on Hinata's shoulder, she felt a certain pleasure looking at the crimson hue of the Hyūga's cheeks and the tears that threatened to be spilled every instant. She had to prove to her rebellious little Hyūga that she, Ino, owned her. Body and soul. Calmly, hooking one of her long fingers under the strap of Hinata's bra she let it slide down her arm.

With that grimace of pleasure spread over her flawless features, Ino looked like a tyrannical demon, Hinata decided. She would have wanted to push her aside, to liberate herself from those prying fingers that travelled the skin of her arm. The breathe that caressed her neck was strangely cool as the eyes that looked at her in the mirror.

"Come with me, Hinata …"

How to refuse when you felt that there was someone else in your head trying to force your hand in accepting.

"W-where?"

She was becoming numb, soon her knees would give in and she would fall on the ground like an abandoned heap of flesh. The voice that was whispering to her ear became distorted.

"You know where. Come with me, y'know you want to …"

'_No._'

"We already talked about it. I told you that it will be easy since I have the US citizenship. We just fill out a few forms, bring some pictures and you will be able to come with me …"

A soft lick to her neck, while Ino's hand clawed at her arm. Softness and cruelty in one woman. It would be so easy to say _yes_ and forget about everything else. There was no chance that they would make it though, and not only because their parents would hunt them down, one way or the other. And even if they did succeed in getting out of Japan, there was no guarantee they would be able to realize their dreams. How many girls were there in the world that flocked L.A. to try and make it happen in _the_ Industry.

"Freedom is a dream worthy to be realized as well …"

Hinata wanted to scream at her: '_Get out of my head._' But that would have led to nothing. Once Ino was in, she simply spread like a rash until your will was subdued to hers. She was like a parasite of some sorts and Hinata loved it.

Truth being said, as all weak characters, the only thing Hinata needed was someone to convince her and to take away all responsibility from her choices. She wanted to be convinced but without standing behind her choices. If she said _yes_, it would only be because Ino had been insistent, manipulative and malicious.

As Hinata's shoulders slumped, Ino's carnivorous smile only stretched to resemble that of the Cheshire Cat's. Some conquests were truly more worth making than others.

Ino's clawing hand finally released Hinata's bruised hand, to attack her ribs with a silky caress. Travelling upwards, the hand reached its destination as Hinata's breath hitched. Ever so slowly, a finger traced the edge of the bra cup, while the pulp lips of the blond demon placed themselves directly over Hinata's ear.

"You know you want to."

Those were the last words spoken before the hand disappeared under the sturdy cotton of Hinata plain bra.

Some things were to be done rather than said to make someone give in to pressure.

**Flashback 4**

'_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._'

Yamanaka Ino had never been one to know when not to take things too far. Well, it was too late for her to bitch'n'moan over passed decisions. She had some money, a high school diploma and her passport. Fucking good enough. And she had told him if he spoke about what had gone down this evening, she would tell the world how when she was twelve he sneaked into her room and fucked her while she screamed for her mom, wo was in Paris at the time.

She had always fucking hated her stepfather. But what did you expect when her own father did not want to know shit about her and her mother spent her time drinking and accusing her for every dumb shit that went down in her life, when she wasn't on the other side of the world. No wonder her stepfather had seen an invitation in raping her the first time he got a chance to.

She needed a smoke and a track of snow. _Badly_. The asshole had gotten what he deserved tonight. She only regretted not having settled the score by cutting his throat, or at least aimed much lower. When she came back from Milan, her mother would have a lot of stitching work to do, but hey that was her job to begin with. And had she had any feelings for her daughter, her being a designer could have permitted for Ino to enter the Industry and not force her to go about fucking old geezers in exchange of money and connections.

But it wasn't fair to accuse only her mother. Her father, _the_ photographer of all times, Giacomo de Cecco, could have asked about her, wondered what was happening to her instead of sending her mother some obscene amounts of money just to keep her trap shut. The only good thing that had come out of him was the shiny American passport that was comfortably hidden in her backpack.

It was starting to rain and she hoped like fuck none of the _bourgeois_ and _nouveaux riches_ families of the neighborhood would peak from behind their lace curtains to look at Yamanaka-san's daughter walking frantically in a disgusting pair of black sweats. No one would care that they were _Juicy Couture_. Or that _Juicy_ was plastered in huge pink letters on her bony ass.

Oh for fuck's sake, someone was coming her way in the middle of the evening while it was raining. And from afar it seemed like her favorite _Michelin Man_. Of course, who else could ignore the simplest instruction of waiting for her to wait at a precise downtown Tokyo subway station.

"Hinata …" Ino hissed "The fuck you're doing here?! I told you where to wait for me."

Grabbing the sleeve of her that ridiculous white and lavender hoodie she had been wearing the first time they went out together – for Hinata to get an abortion, if anyone cared, Ino dragged her away, not waiting to hear any explanations. They would have time for all that bullshit later. Now was all about getting their asses out of here and into the anonymous crowds walking through the streets of downtown Tokyo, hoping for something to happen in their miserable, empty lives.

And Ino did not much care for Hinata until they were seated in a subway wagon, damp and shivering.

"Take off that hood, Hina, it is soaked. We'll get a fucking cold before we even leave this dumb country."

Since the mousy _little_ (as in little for Ino) Hyūga did not seem to care answering, Ino lifted her hand to tear off the hood when she got it tapped away by Hinata. Someone was twitchy tonight. But since Ino was known to be insistent to say the least, she grabbed Hinata's wrist and before the Hyūga had any time to cry out, her hood was down and Ino was gasping shocked.

She had something to see indeed. The beautiful, usually unmarred porcelain skin of Hyūga Hinata was covered in horrid bruises. They were going through the complete color spectrum, from purple to greenish red. The pulp pink lips were engorged with blood and cracked. Her cheekbones were ravaged and her left eye was so swollen Ino was sure she couldn't see because of the monstrously oversized eyelid. And since Ino was one to beat the truth out of people.

As Hinata averted her eyes, Ino carefully, with the tips of her fingers, lifted her bruised chin. Their life was so fucked up, wasn't it? And yet, how many girls in the world would have exchanged with them?! Fucked up, so fucked up.

"I a-am not pregnant t-this time. Don't worry …"

Intertwining her fingers with Hinata's, Ino looked through the window and into the blackness of the night. They couldn't see any trees or other such things; it was truly way too dark outside.

Focusing on Ino's white sweater, Hinata noticed strange red smudges on the sleeves. Turning what was left of her curious gaze to Ino's, she almost provoked an outburst of laughter in her. Come on, how many chicks with a tumefied face could stare inquisitively at someone's clothes?! With the same seductive voice that she used to convince, Ino whispered for only Hinata to hear (since they were the only ones in the subway anyways):

"I stabbed him in the shoulder. Stabbed him till he was screaming on the floor. I tried to bleed the pig. It is difficult to bleed someone to death. But at least, I told him that if he tried to say a fucking word about it to anyone, in other words the police, he would end up with his face on a newspaper's frontpage and with his business up his ass. But now I regret I didn't come by to kidnap you the right way. Maybe it would have been easier to bleed Neji to death. He isn't as fat as that old shit."

At those vindictive words, Hinata tried to smile but it came out as a horrible grimace. Well, you did what you could with what you had. At least, they were sure Neji would not give them up for a few more days. He needed to find a way to make it all sound Hinata's fault and it wasn't in his interest, if Hinata did show her face again, for her father to come down from Kyoto and see all the bruises he had made on her face. A few days were enough for them to be the fuck out of here. Sure, Hyūga Hiashi, who pulled the strings of one of the largest Japanese telecom companies, would easily find his daughter wherever she was in the world.

But, even that would take some time, and by the time he did get to her, he wouldn't want to take her back and wouldn't dare do anything against her. She would make it too compromising for him.

"Hey, snap out of it, beauty queen."

Ino's ironies were the best bittersweet remedies for any type of spleen. Still holding hands, they exited the subway and headed for the streets of Tokyo. They were welcomed by lights, giggles, punks, girls looking for someone to pull along in a dark alley. This was Tokyo at night. And of course, as usual, they were the center of attention. Mocking glances, pointed fingers. They were the freakiest freaks of this nightly freakshow.

The masses of night owls that passed by them made Ino careful with their things. She knew the streets better than her own room. But they had a goal, they weren't just some other girls, either dressed like dolls or tanned as if they were BBQed chicken, that were doing the streets or some bitches looking for their daily doses (well, Ino would get her track if she were damned).

"That's where we are going."

Pointing her finger to one of those luxurious twenty-storied apartment blocks, Ino clicked her tongue. Hinata just felt her a spasm go through her hand. Well, the building was one of those postmodern wannabes that was inhabited by richy rich hipsters. Hinata had a natural gagging reflex. Coming from an old-money family, she couldn't stand any type of pseudo-intellectualism. It was a wonder she had any interest in the very shallow art of postmodern photography and all the currents of pseudo-intellectualism attached.

Running across the street, begging to Heaven not to get driven over and becoming road-kill, Ino and Hinata took refuge under the entrance's roof. From the inside, a doorman was getting ready to shoo them away, but Ino was faster and pushed the button beside a name Hinata could not discern because of the darkness.

"Who is this?"

A distorted, annoyed was heard through a speakerphone. Pushing another button by the speakerphone, Ino drawled a falsely happy greeting. A silence ensued before a juicy invective was dropped on the other side of the speakerphone and a buzzing sound was heard. Sticking her tongue out to the doorman who was sending her a threatening glare, she pulled the front door open and ushered Hinata into parlor decorated in the shabby-chic style. Hinata almost had an aesthetical heart-attack.

Pushing her damp hair over her shoulder, Ino simply cheekily smiled at the old man who was most probably pondering about how they were call-girls and defiling their beautiful, chic building. Well, old man, if you asked Hinata's superior judgment, she wouldn't put up with so much lack of taste. Her inner snob was worried it would get her old converse filthy by walking the perfect marble floor.

Grabbing onto Hinata's hoodie, Ino just pulled her abruptly into an elevator. An elevator covered in corny red velvet with a steward dressed in just as corny and outfit.

"Penthouse, 19th level."

Way of being brusque, Ino.

The only thing they missed, according to Hinata was an oversized, overperfumed woman and some elevator music. The situation wasn't corny enough.

The steward would from time to time throw them a suspicious, worried glance, most probably, just like the doorman wondering what Hoshigaki-sama was doing, calling girls to him at this time of the hour, especially this weird pair. The man was known to be a pretty popular Japanese modelling agent. He had girls prancing in and out of his apartment at all times of the day. But not girls that were two meters tall at least and looked like hoboes.

Uncomfortable little elevator trip. But even the most uncomfortable situation had to come to an end and when the doors did open, Hinata simply hurried passed the steward and into what seemed to be another huge entrance parlor. And in the middle of the parlor stood a man. The type that couldn't be bypassed in the streets if you wanted too. Everything about him was larger than nature (and when I say everything, I mean _everything_).

Taking a surprised step back, Hinata walked right into Ino. A soft squeeze to her shoulder and she turned her head around.

"Yamanka Ino."

"Hoshigaki Kisame."

She didn't add a honorific. Ino did not add a honorific. Cue to Hinata starting to hyperventilate. Maybe it was true what Ino had said a few years ago. She would sell her off to a prostitution ring. And this guy would be the pimp.

"Who's the ghost there?"

Ino simply pushed Hinata aside and walked right up to the man. For the first time in a long while, a guy was towering over her. At one ninety, Hoshigaki Kisame could tower anyone and everyone wherever in the world. Pale, almost bluish skin, blondish hair and eyes that visited you in your nightmares, of a brown so pale they were yellow. Hokkaido has this way of producing freaks. He had the feel of a shark. And when he opened his mouth to flash them a grimace of a smile, Hinata believed her knees would give in.

"Let's go to the living room."

Walking through the parlor and into the living room, they were welcomed by minimalist decoration, in the tones of white and black.

A low glass table, a black leather couch and on the white walls, pictures of girls. Plenty of black-and-whites of girls. Those were most probably his working girls. Hinata felt her throat close up. She was in trouble.

"I would offer your girls to sit, but I am worried you will ruin the couch, no offense."

His voice was deep and mocking and did not match the carnivorous shine of his eyes. But Ino did not much take the insult to hard and simply let herself fall on the wooden floor. His black wood panels covered in lacquer would be ruined then, he made his choice.

"So …" Ino drawled.

Straightening his pristine white shirt he sat down on his couch, following Hinata with his eyes as she walked towards Ino and sat by her, her legs under her. She reminded him of a kitten in some ways and he had a certain curiosity to see that girl Ino was bringing along with her. If she just could let that hood of her down.

"Well, he will meet up with you when you get there. Your pictures were decent; the videos we sent of you were good too. You enter well the new trend of all-American exotic. But, you've got to fend for yourself there. You won't get any help and no need to call me, as soon as you are out of the country, you're off my plate."

Letting a cascade of laughter escape, Ino shook her damp hairr, looking at the man provocatively.

"I came here to dry my documents and get a track, have a good night's sleep and a free Wi-Fi, is all. You owe me that much, KiKi."

Turning her head from one side to the other, she examined the girls on the pictures. All mediocre Japanese starlettes and models. Nothing huge, big.

"How does it feel, tell me, to know you have discovered a model that will make it big, unlike the shit you work with on an everyday basis."

A rumble low in his throat reverberated through the room. Was he growling or laughing? Whatever, Hinata did still prepare for a deluge of insults. Peaking from under her hood, she wondered at the difference between men. Her father had always been uninterested, austere and cold. Neji had too, but to his generally cold character implied a short fuse and a necessity to dominate that made him prone to outbursts. But this man, Hoshigaki Kisame, had the feel of someone swimming through life calmly until sensing blood and then attacking and tearing his prey into pieces.

That is how in the long run he did get to those girls. All pretty idiots with low self-confidence believing they made a difference singing dumb songs and appearing on the front covers of low-class magazines. In fact, Hinata admired him in some ways. This was a man that did the strict minimum and lived off of the dreams and the hopes of other people. The perfect parasite.

"Fuck you, Hoshigaki, I'll succeed."

Another soft laugh ensued.

"Ino-chi, let me get you the most important thing and then you and your _fiancée_, or whatever she is, can get a shower, abuse my Wi-Fi as much as you want and get the fuck out of here in max two days. This isn't a shelter for abused chicks, if you see what I mean."

Standing up swiftly, he disappeared into the parlor again, leaving Ino tapping her foot on the wooden floor. She didn't dare to turn around to face Hinata, she simply couldn't. Two days were enough for all the shit in the world to happen when she was with her soon-to-be ex-agent and pusher.

When he came back, he softly approached Hinata under Ino's threatening glare and dropped a white t-shirt that smelled of expensive cologne and what seemed to be a pair of boxers that sent Hinata's pressure sky-high. Squatting in front of her, he swiftly pulled off her hood, ignoring Ino's protests.

"What a waste. What a terrible waste. She could be good as well."

_Good_? For what?

Before he could explain his thoughts, he was standing with Ino pressed intimately against his chest.

"Don't touch other people's property and hand over what I need."

Whom was she possessive of, Hinata wondered. Herself or that man that had come so close to her? Besides Neji, she had never had a man standing so close and saturating the air she breathed with expensive, male cologne. And besides the words she got from Ino, it was the first time someone had said she was good for something.

Ino's hand went to the buckle of his belt as he held up what seemed to be a little plastic pouch filled with something white. Hinata knew what it was. But it was the first time she saw what Ino did to get to it. It made her feel so tired to look at them.

Throwing her a dismissive glance, Ino simply whispered:

"Go take a shower Hina, take the stairs in the parlor. Hallway to your right, last door to your left."

Not wanting to be stuck looking at their acts that were becoming frenetic, Hinata grabbed onto the clothes she had been handed, let her bag slide from her shoulders and raced out of the room. Ino, tomorrow, would ask for forgiveness and try to coax her out of her shell, she knew. But when she needed her dose, there was nothing else that mattered than instant gratification.

Letting her knees give in on the stairs, Hinata slid down, muffling a whimper with her hand at the noises that were coming from the living room. This could be the penthouse of a known agent, but it felt so dirty, ever so dirty. The image of Ino inhaling her snow on the transparent glass of the low table made her stomach churn.

She did eventually stand up and headed towards the bathroom as instructed. Everything to avoid hearing the noise of beasts mating.

Two more days. Two more days before life.


	2. Them Fucking Italian Stilettoes

**A/N: To all the GaaHina fans, I PROMISE that starting next chapter you will have your share of GaaHina. Please bear with this chapter, I know it will be unnerving to many of you, but keep in mind that starting next chapter, you will have your money's worth.**

**Guest who wanted it to be a GaaIno, SasuHina: I am already writing a SasuHina and thought that a little change would do me good. Hence, all the GaaIno fans will have to bear with me.**

**Guest who thought the last chapter to be too long: You will hate my guts, this is a 20 000 + words chapter.**

_**Russia Psycho, Sabaku No Anjel**_**,**_** CeciFleur, LoveHinata29, DarkPrincess129, RandomChick and guests**_**, you are my loves! Thank you so very much for your encouraging words. I was so worried about this fic and here you are giving me hope. Same goes for those that favorited and follow the story. I don't know how to thank you all.**

**A special word to **_**Sabaku No Anjel**_**, you are my biggest inspiration. You give me the craziest ideas and your encouragements are what keeps me going. Since I met you, I started writing the longest chapters ever and I even wonder whether I will be able to finish a fic, for once. Thank you, dearest. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto. **

**The Glam Show**

_Chapter 2_

Them Fucking Italian Stilettoes

_By _

_Voyna___

There was a lot of shit Yamanaka Ino, twenty-years old and as tall as a tree, hated in life. Not being able to have a smoke when she wanted one. Being in the middle of a packed airport. Italians. Not having had her dose of coke. And prickly eyes because of allergies, which indirectly made her fucking hate spring.

And guess what, she was being horded by all the things she hated at the same moment, in one place, at a precise time in the year. She was in a packed Milanese airport; walking with her random suitcase on wheels (she also hated having random accessories because she still couldn't afford a _Louis Vuitton_ suitcase). Her feet hurt like shit; her second-hand _Manolo Blahnik_ ankle-boots were distorting her toes beyond the laws of physique. It was the middle of spring, Italians were flaunting flowers every-_fucking_-where, her eyes and nose were about to go explosive on whomever would find himself in front of her and she had not had her track.

The shit with coke was that after a few times you snowed your nose, it didn't give you the expected high anymore but if you didn't keep up shoving your muzzle into it, you wanted to go Nazi on the world.

What the hell was wrong with the world?! Why did the Fashion Weeks in all the cities that mattered happen at a few days interval, in the middle of spring and implied packed airports, obnoxious autochthonous populations ('cause if you asked her, Italians were savages drinking Espresso) and unprotected sex (she wasn't planning having to burn condylomas with liquid nitrogen any time soon, thanks)?!

Pulling along her suitcase under the appreciative glance of European men, because Yamanaka Ino was _hot_, for your information; she pushed her _Bvlgari_ further up her nose. Her eyes were leaking like a hose. Sometimes, she wondered whether her eyelids made pollen reserves just to make sure that she would be puffy, red and look like a junkie before passing the luggage check. She hadn't had her dose for two days straight and here she was, looking higher than after an orgy with some mogul.

Okay, fuck it. Seriously, _fuck it_. She didn't care whether the Italian police appeared all of a sudden and shoved a ticket up her tight ass; she had to have at least a smoke. She spent the last fucking week giving the Milanese runaway her best catwalk, smiling to everyone when the only thing she wanted was to punch the first bitch that made a comment about her grease to bone ratio, making friendy friends with the hairdressers and make-up artists and fucking everything that let itself get fucked and could give her a chance to maybe land a photo-shoot so that she could stop for at least a few hours parading _Dolce & Gabbana_'s ugly shit (though she had to thank them for having made her one of their regulars; she was called a _Dolce & Gabbana_ girl already and that was good news).

Pulling her right shoulder up, she started rummaging through her _Hermes_ handbag (hah, she finally had at least one of these, now she wanted a _Louis Vuitton_ suitcase) to retrieve what seemed to be a flat, metallic box and a matching lighter. Anniversary presents from her better half.

The very thought of the cute face that waited for her at home made her mood switch to _bearable_. Opening the case, she retrieved a _Black Russian_ and lighted it in the middle of a freaking airport, under the shocked glances of whole families. People still had children, seriously? Weren't there already incubators for that shit?!

With a shuddering breath, she took in a long draft of smoke. Thank the Lord for the small joys. Letting the smoke escape her nostrils (she already played it as if she were in the middle of the fifties smoking in a public place, why not make some nostril fumes too, vintage), a pleasurable shiver travelled along her spine. She still needed her track of snow, but all of a sudden the need went from excruciating to irritating. She might not hijack the plane for Frankfurt after all.

Before she could bring her baby to her lips again, Ino was approached by what seemed like a _Guido_ right out of _Jersey Shore_. Was that pig grease that she smelled emanating from his head? Woho, buddy. Did she have _Italiana_ written on her forehead for someone to start bullshitting her in the language of _Fabios_?

"Listen, dude, I don't speak no _Italiano_. _Niet Italiano_!"

For good measure, she shook her cigarette in a denying gesture right in front of his nose.

"Like what is this, Afghanistan, for security guards not to speak English?"

"He's not a security guard, I'd say he's a janitor and he's telling ya you can't smoke in here."

Turning on her hips, Ino pinned whoever had dared interrupt her trying to communicate with that gorilla (probably escaped from the zoo) with a glare.

Well what do we have here? Two-meters of all male. Measuring him up for a suit, Ino let her eyes (well what was visible of them through her sunglasses) move from his feet all the way up to his face. Not bad. But not good enough for her not to tear his head off.

"Listen, _G.I. Joe_, I'm no damsel-in-distress and unless you are the simultaneous translator of that fucking _Fabio_ just there, you can run along, thanks."

Well Ino was not the only one that could have a motormouth; she had picked a fight with the wrong guy.

"For a chick that has as much style as a New York hobo, you sure have some attitude. Is it me or the cuffs of your _Burberry_ trench-coat are almost torn off and your shoes are right out of _Manolo_'s collection for spring two-thousand and four. We are in two-thousand fourteen, if you didn't realize."

Wait, wait, a guy that knew about _Manolo Bahnik_ collections and could recognize a true _Burberry_ from a false at first glance, what was he? A fucking fag with some military complex?!

Since she had no comeback to that as the guy was dressed like a model (which he could be, explaining why the hell he seemed to know what he was talking about) and since he did kick her ego right in the balls, Ino simply brought her cigarette to her lips, breathed in slowly under the aghast gape of the janitor or whatever he was and dropped the maggot right onto Mr. Fashion-Expert's expensive, one-hundred percent Italian leather boots before jamming the used heel of her own right onto his toes. She just wanted to put out the cigarette, of course.

As Mr. Know-It-All's face contorted in pain and a growl escaped him, she turned her head to the _Fabio_ and simply blew the smoke right into his eyes.

Pushing them aside, she just walked towards wherever she had to go, leaving those two idiots behind. She had had her dose of nicotine and had gotten away with it, unless the janitor went bitching to the security. But she would be on board by the time they recognized her, since she was planning on disappearing in the mass of blondinettes that were gathering in front of the luggage control.

Regaining some of his composure, the model-like fag with a military complex straightened and apologized to the janitor in a few words of badly-pronounced Italian. What the hell was he apologizing for?! He wasn't even American, for fuck's sake. Well, he knew the chick; that was for sure.

That lame, disproportioned Barbie doll-was Ino Yamanaka, the concept that made his everyday life miserable. But this was the first time he'd ever seen her or talked to her. Sure, he'd seen shots of her, taken during some fashion shows, and some other shots that _someone_ would bring along, but this was certainly the first time he saw her plastic face move. And she didn't disappoint.

Speaking of that certain _someone_, he turned around looking for a public phone. Spotting one, he hurried towards it before someone else had the same idea. From an _Armani_ wallet he retrieved from the rear pocket of his canvas pants, he produced a _Visa_ that he inserted into the public phone's slot before dialing a number.

He let it ring. It was night in the US and he would most probably end up waking her. As long as it wasn't his roommate answering. Someone picked up the phone and before he even knew who was on the other line, a ridiculous smile plastered itself all over his face. He flashed his canines to the phone as if he hadn't seen the old friend phone for ages.

"_Uhm … hello?_"

"Hey there, sleepyhead. Sorry for waking ya, wanted to know how you were doing. Am at the airport at the moment."

"_Kiba! H-hello! How are y-you? Maru was getting worried because you didn't call any earlier._"

He chuckled. Gosh, he was a freak. He fucking loved when she stuttered like that. He must have had a stutter-fetish, or something.

"Was it Aka or you that was worried, huh? By the way, did ya make yourself at home? Hope Shino didn't try to pull something weird. I'll beat the shit out of him if he did."

Laughter on the other side of the world. He loved when he made her laugh. Picturing the way she would throw her head back, her long, black hair flying around and her mouth wide open made his own smile grow even wider. If he kept it up, he would become wrinkled before his age.

"_S-Shino was a real gentleman. He was m-mostly at UCLA, preparing his seminar. He's working very h-hard. It was mostly M-maru and myself. Thank you so m-much for having let me stay at your p-place. That was really t-thoughtful of you …_"

Hah! In your face Ino Yamanaka! He, Kiba Inuzuka, was _thoughtful_. This felt better than looking at his six-pack every time he passed by a _Calvin Klein_ add. He was _Calvin Klein_'s face, or better to say pair of balls, of the year.

"Hey, Hina …"

Taking a deep breath before continuing, he tried to clear his head. Saying something that would drive the cute Hinata Yamanaka away from him would break his heart ('cause Kiba Inuzuka was in contact with his feelings and didn't fucking care about what people said, he loved it). But he wasn't Tsume Inuzuka's son for nothing and containing what he wanted to scream to the world wasn't his type.

"I missed you so fucking much. What do you say about staying an extra night so we can celebrate? I got a huge shooting contract for _John Varvatos_. All the dudes of the world are gonna smell like me. Well, like the damn perfume, but I will be the face of the perfume … if that makes any sense …"

He got it of course; he had never worked so hard, ramming that piece of shit Anthony Karl that was going to do the photos in the ass. The photographer had always had a thing for Hungarian models. Just thinking about it made him want to puke his lungs out. The dark side of the Industry. All that impersonal fucking was going to get the best of him, especially since he wasn't homosexual (he had nothing against them, personally) and no one could convince him otherwise. He fucked. He didn't get fucked. Period. His anus remained unviolated, thank you very much.

Silence on the other end. She was fidgeting. It took him two years to make friends with her, to make her get out of that shell of hers. She didn't do well with guys. But by the way she sometimes looked at him when he leaned over the counter of _Kurenai Yūhi_'s and was inches away from her; he could swear she wasn't a lesbian.

Whatever brought her to marry Ino Yamanaka was none of his business, he knew, but he wanted to make it his business. Truth being said, Kiba Inuzuka wasn't the saint Hinata seemed to believe him. He was as egoistical as any other guy. Or as Ino Yamanaka. Just that he didn't want to take advantage of her, the only difference.

"_Ino is coming back tomorrow … I m-mean tonight. I h-haven't seen her for t-two weeks and want to be t-there. W-we'll celebrate all together w-with Kurenai and Shino as soon as you c-come back. You'll be too tired, anyways … ok?_"

Yeah, it was always about Ino. Ino here, Ino there. Fuck Ino. Repressing a sigh, he let the edges of his lips fall down and passed a hand over his face.

"Sure, Hina. No probs. Looking forward to seeing you. Gotta go now, don't want to miss the plane for Frankfurt. You take care of yourself."

Before she had had the time to add something, he had hung up. Heading towards the luggage control line, he hoped to get through it as fast as possible so that he could go sit down and put some order to his thoughts.

Hinata Yamanaka. The first time he had seen her she had had a huge Japanese accent, was eighteen years old and looked like a soaked Yorkshire. He had known at the very moment she had opened her mouth that this girl with freaky eyes hidden under thick bangs, that looked pretty much like a ghost and stuttered at every two words, would be the mother of his children. Call it animal instinct.

The thing is, he hadn't planned her to be married. And he couldn't know that in a near future, he would have to add an even bigger player than Ino Yamanaka to the list of his rivals. Could he have imagined that, he would have walked right towards a wall and started hitting his head against it. Fuck his life.

And of course, waiting in line to get groped by shaking hands, he had to get nostalgic and remember the good old days. Like for example when he had met Hinata Yamanaka and had mistaken her for some very daring hobo.

**Flashback**

It had been raining cats and dogs, but mostly cats that Kiba had an aversion for. Kurenai was on her phone trying to reschedule a photo-shoot for another day. Winter in L.A. was an annual reconstruction of the Deluge that had got Noah to shove two animals of every species in an enormous ark. Truth about Kiba was that he was a lazy fuck. When he wasn't flashing his ass in some designer pants on some runaway, he was mostly training dogs with his celebrity mom. Tsume Inuzuka was a dog-trainer with a huge Hungarian accent transforming the average mutt into the gentlehound. All the celebrity pets had went through Tsume. And Kiba was going to take over the business. Eventually. Once he was done doing nothing.

He had not been university material like his roommate, Shino, who was getting a degree in biology and whose passion were bugs. Nah, Kiba was manwhore material, flashing his goodies was what he did the best. Had there been more _Playgirl_-type magazines, he would have modelled for them for sure. He had even considered becoming a Chippendale until he realized he had as much sense of rhythm as a rock.

And that is when Kurenai Yūhi had come along, back in the days when she sported the Finnish albino style that had made more than one model startle. He was fifteen, he was flunking high school big time while Hana was almost done with her fashion designer degree in New York, at _Parsons_. She had always been the smart one of the family and he had always been the idiot.

Kurenai had met Hana while she was interning for _Balenciaga_, because as mentioned previously she was the smart one of the family. She had always been able to make herself shine even if she wasn't as talented and creative as some others. A well-educated couturier, she was an even better business woman. Hana would have been able to sell shit to _Donald Trump_.

Kurenai had been the photographer while Hana had been assigned to help repair shit that would get ripped during the shooting. They had chatted it up, because Hana, being the smart one of the family, also had the fullest facebook he had ever seen. He wondered sometimes whether she knew the fucking Dalai Lama.

The next day, she had dragged him along, destroying all his plans of picking up some French girls to check out whether yes or no they shaved. Intimately.

He had lived in Paris for the summer because Tsume had not been able to manage someone with a character as explosive as her own during a whole two months. And had done what every good mother would when she couldn't cope with her progeny; she had kicked him out.

That is how he ended up in Hana's loft. His sister hadn't been around much, working ridiculous hours and spending her free time sketching for her own benefit. Therefore, he hadn't seen much of her and had hoped he would be free to roam around the city as he saw fit. Which had been the case, until then.

That morning she had dragged him along and made him serve fucking Danishes to obnoxious, conceited models that had done everything to make him miserable.

'_Ki-buh _(because they couldn't even pronounce his name right)_, get me a coffee from this-that café. A mochachino latté with Scottish toffee and Swarovski crystal powder on top._"

And that is when he had seen her. She was hard to miss with her heavy Finnish accent, her hefty insults and tantrums, her sexy slurs and that fucking white hair and red eyes. She had freaked the living shit out of him. Thank God she had eventually understood that dying her hair, brows and lashes black was the way to go. Hallelujah to that.

She had approached him and had chatted him up. Asked about his life, his family, his plans for the future; while his sister was desperately trying to mend some satin pants. He hadn't been interested in the talk; he hadn't been interested in the Industry and whatever it was that she was offering.

But, by the end of the photo-shoot, when the models had all escaped and Hana had been busy recuperating _Balenciaga_'s Fall/Winter collection, Kurenai Yūhi had succeeded in making him sit still on a chair while she had played with the lighting. Hana had come along and had been placed behind him. And a shot had been taken.

Three years later, he was sitting in Kurenai's photo-studio. The woman that had been one of the most promising photographers of her time and that could have had a long run was now making portfolios for models and local photo-shoots. The fact she was refusing to go on location outside of L.A. had greatly hindered her advancement in the Industry. But she was a single mom now, with the father of the kid five feet under.

And he? He had become decently big. He was the sexy piece of Hungarian ass that made Burberry fangirls swoon … and designers go _chaud lapin_ on that very ass. The Industry, he had discovered fast enough, wasn't all fluffy pink feathers. It was mostly crappy shit, but once you were in, you didn't want to get out. Or better said, you didn't know how to live outside of that world and did everything to remain in it. He felt like puking at all the sick shit he had found himself doing.

He had been sitting on one of Kurenai's fancy, black leather armchairs, while she had been making faces, trying not to lose the account for that shooting the weather had ruined. Staring at the wall, he was facing the very picture that had been taken some three years ago in Paris and had made him a famous model.

A fifteen-year old Kiba was staring right at him, with that arrogant playboy attitude he had never lost. His head was tilted back by two elegant hands with long fingers. One was curling around his neck, almost clawing at it while the other caressed his left cheek, softly pressing against the corner of his lower lip with the forefinger. Hana's beautiful, soft hands. It was a black-and-white, of course.

He had been challenging the photographer at the time and now he was friends with her, even if there was a freaking fifteen-year gap between the two of them. He came to spend his free time at her studio when he wasn't on location and visited her Beverly Hills apartment to play with little Asuma or take him out for a walk to cut the woman some slack whenever he could.

He liked Kurenai. She reminded him of Hana (since he had to be a loser with a sister complex), they shared the same shrewd eyes and this way of being able to sell ice to a fucking penguin.

His musings were interrupted by someone opening the door. A little step was taken, someone entered. And what do we have here? At first glance, whatever it was made him think of a soaked Yorkshire (the ups and downs of having a dog-trainer as mother).

A pretty tall girl dressed in knee-length cut-offs and an oversized flannel button-down shuffled her black _Converse_ by the door. She was holding something like a big cover to her heart. Kurenai raised her head, flashed a smile to the girl and held up a finger.

'_Wait._'

Checking her out, Kiba tried to meet her eye, but the way she was avoiding it really made him curious. No sane girl would try to avoid anything about him. Fortunately for the Yorkshire, he had always had a thing for the crazy ones.

Maybe she was a model with an appointment for a portfolio shooting. She had the height and looking at those long, slim legs of hers, he could bet she wasn't hiding a whole lot of grease under that oversized shirt.

Looking around herself, her eyes stopped on that white-and-black of him and a gasp escaped her. He had always had that effect on the bitches, at least according to him.

"Ain't I pretty?"

She jumped; she hadn't expected him to address her so bluntly. Turning her head, she made some droplets of water fall right onto his face. Heavy black bangs were hiding her eyes but just by the form of her face and her nose, he could bet she was Asian.

Standing up like the gentleman that he was, he offered her his hand.

"Kiba Inuzuka. That's me on the wall."

Flashing her his most charming smile, that was always suffused with the most carnal promises, he expected for her little hand to grab onto his, which it did not. Her eyes, under those heavy bangs just remained focused on his extended hand and before he could add something to make him seem more welcoming, the girl started to shake as a leaf.

That is the moment Kurenai chose to put down her phone and greet the newcomer. Turning towards her, Miss Yorkshire just stared at the woman for too long an instant before starting to stutter incomprehensible words with a heavy accent.

"P-p-please … f-f-forigive me … I made a m-mistake … I'll g-go n-n-now …"

Before she could take a step towards the door, Kiba was already in front of it, blocking her way and Kurenai was approaching.

"It is raining a lot outside. Why don't you stay with us for the time being? How about a coffee or some tea? We were getting ready for a light snack, why not join us?"

There were those moments of revelation that hit you like a fucking freight-train. That was one of those moments. Kiba felt like Pamela Anderson had just flashed him with her E-cups.

As soon as that weirdo girl had opened her mouth (all the things he would have done to that mouth), he had felt an electric shock pass right through him. Thank God even electricity knew what parts of the body it was decent to electrocute in public. Had he been with her alone in a cupboard, with those lips of hers, that slurry accent and that stutter, he wouldn't have been able to contain himself.

You didn't see the shy type walking the streets around here. He had never had a girl shake in front of him, avoid his eyes and stutter. Especially not in L.A., where innocent implied never having taken part in a gangbang.

She was completely new and exotic. And the hunter in him loved it. So, when she had seemed to want to escape, he had had to block her path. He would have growled and jumped at her right there and then had Kurenai not meddled.

Before she could do anything, the little Hinata Yamanaka as she was called was seated in an armchair and snuggled into one of the cotton robes that Kurenai kept at hand for the models that wanted to change clothes. A cup of nice tea, imported right from Russia, only the best at Kurenai's, and some colorful macaroons were forced onto her.

Looking at Kurenai skillfully pulling information out of that bundle of shyness and awkwardness, he had the desire just to whisk her away and hide her in a tower. The way she would fidget, pushing her forefingers one against the other, rise her head, than let it fall down, blush and stutter had the same effect on him like a naked Playmate offering herself in the middle of the fucking street.

However, instead of wanting to push her into a bush, he felt like sitting on the floor and cuddling her knees. Instead of fantasizing licking her from the thighs up, he had images of his arms folded around that thin body running through his mind. He was becoming a real pussy and he fucking loved it.

Love at first sight. That's how you called it. At the moment, had she asked him to give up on his modelling career and run away with her to live like gypsies, travelling the country, he would have called his agent and told him to suck his big Hungarian dick.

Having a two-meter guy intently staring at her got her animal instincts kicking in and every two seconds, she tried to inch closer to Kurenai, worried by all that energy that was coming from him. While he was trying to understand every word she was uttering, she was trying to get away from him as much as she could. And even if her voice was getting smaller by the minute, making Kurenai tilt her head towards her, he didn't lose a word.

Hinata Yamanaka was an amateur photographer from Tokyo. She had had a few of her shots published in some Japanese magazines and taken part in some small-scale exhibitions. That paper cover that she was still holding had some samples. And it was with a lot of perseverance and pulling that Kurenai, keeping her encouraging smile all along, succeeded in getting her hands on the samples.

To make a long story short, she was looking for a job as photography assistant. And had obviously entered _Kurenai Yūhi_'s without knowing much about who that could be. The pictures she had seen exposed on the wall had discouraged her fast enough. She hadn't been able to get a place in some low-class studios, what she was seeing on the walls had made her want to jump down a bridge.

While Kurenai was going through Hinata's shots, her eyebrows pulled together, all concentration, Kiba and the girl were left to stare and measure each other up for a suit. She was the squirrel; he was the bloodhound and he loved the feel of it. He wanted her to get that job, so he could spend his empty days staring at her. She was ornamental to say the least.

Attracting Hinata's attention back to her, Kurenai started asking her more technical questions about this or that shot. There were a few details about her work that she wanted to know all about. They were mostly pertaining to the way she worked with the lighting, things he did not understand a shit about and couldn't have cared less before. But now that they had anything to do with her, they became more interesting than lesbian porn to him.

"Okay, we'll have to teach you about artificial lighting. Besides that, I like how you did the shots with the girl, the detail and the settings. You make neat, clean shots. I have more of a minimalist approach though and I'll expect hard work. I've been doing everything by myself for a year now."

Standing up and carrying Hinata's empty china cup away, Kurenai became all business. She liked the girl, Kiba could tell. She was even impressed which was the reason why she talked to her in such a serious tone.

"I can't promise you much. Minimum salary. That's it. And I'll expect eight hours a day. You're starting tomorrow at nine, don't be late."

And that was how Hinata Yamanaka had started working for _Kurenai Yūhi_'s, often working more than those mandatory eight hours, without asking as much as a penny for the effort. She truly loved what she was doing and her joy when she was arranging some model's hair, straightening some other's shirt or going on location with Kurenai was contagious. She made a name for herself. Every agent that brought his girls to the studio knew Hinata and whenever a shooting was completed for a retail store, models would come and shake Hinata's hand, thank her for the hard work and simply acknowledge it.

And Kiba loved looking at her enjoying herself that much. As months passed by, he was able to get closer to the shy Japanese girl, to learn more about her and what had been the ridiculous desire to hunt down a prey became true affection.

She as well reminded him of Hana. Of the soft, affectionate Hana of his childhood that would come to pick him up from elementary school, made him learn his lessons and studied the art of cooking healthy meals because their mom was out working.

Investing a lot of effort, changing his tactic around her, and letting that ridiculous armor of heartthrob fall, they became friends. In the beginning, they would only exchange civilities. Then they talked about his job that fascinated her. He only later learned that the girl in the photographs that Hinata had shown Kurenai was a model that was trying to pierce. Her _wife_. That had been a hard blow that had sent him into a fucking spleen for a few weeks.

The hands-down gorgeous, adorable and sweet Hinata Yamanaka was a butch! A lesbo! A pussy-licker (so was he, but it wasn't the same thing)! And he had been kicked to the balls right there. He had spent months jerking off at the thought of her in his dumb shower and here you had God spitting right into his face. Had he known that Holy Vengeance implied turning the sexiest (what was unsexy about innocence?!) chicks into butches, he would have never even thought about introducing his dick to his lefty.

But he bounced back from it. For one simple, fucking reason. When they were together, holding little Asuma by the hand, when she was letting Akamaru, his enormous dog, lick her face with mirth, and when sometimes, as his hand grazed her naked wrist, she looked up at him, he was the happiest man in the fucking world. She might have not loved him; she might have been into chicks; into ugly, plastic, generic bimbo chicks like her high-maintenance wife, he just wanted to be close to her. Even if it killed him.

And that is how she found herself from time to time at his place (when she was left alone at home because her wife was running after her dreams) sleeping in his bed and leaving behind the soft smell of lavender, playing chess with Shino and taking a jog with Akamaru. Those were the best moments of his life if he had the chance of being home himself, even if he had to sleep on the crummy couch.

In fact, if someone took a peek into his wallet, he would see a small picture of Kurenai and little Asuma, Shino, Akamaru, Hinata and him picnicking and laughing for the camera (well besides Akamaru, dogs didn't laugh, even if his mother most probably could train one to do so). That was his extended family. Of course, he had pictures of Hana and Tsume in there too, but that was generic.

The two years he had known Hinata without any interference had been the best of his life. Had he had a chance not to meet Ino Yamanaka in the middle of an Italian airport, he would have remained the happiest man in the world.

**End of Flashback**

**...**

Who was the fucking fascist that had invented the Economy class? The guy deserved to be prosecuted in a tribunal for crimes against humanity.

She was sitting in the middle of the plane, with no chance to look through the window, between a fat-ass American that smelled like a corpse and a chick with a baby. The thing wouldn't stop whining. Had it been screaming, Ino would have been able to bear the fucking flight. Screaming she could do, whining, moaning and other shit those poop-machines made like noise, she could not.

Of course, with the luck she had had, she was in the same plane as that other piece of know-it-all shit. She had been standing like an idiot to board for the fucking piss-class while he had walked right by her, smelling of _Paco Rabana_, and headed straight to the Business class. Fuck him, honestly.

Good news was that they were gonna land in New York and she would just have the time to run after her plane for L.A. Because of course, the plane from Frankfurt was running late. You couldn't expect any plane in the world to land in time, because that went against Murphy's Law. Murphy was another asshole that should have ended up hanging from the highest tree.

She had caught the plane. Barely. And a few more hours of having her ass flattened by the crummy plane seats. Did she have to mention what she wanted to do to the fucker that had invented Economy class seats?

She was hungry. She couldn't have eaten any shit they had served to save her life. 'Cause what was her life worth if she was gonna become obese just smelling the fumes emanating from whatever bullshit they were serving?! So she had not eaten. For eighteen hours straight. No food. _Nada_.

Day three without coke. And she was hungry. And still not over the fact that some asshole that had made two seconds of her life miserable had taken the plane for L.A. too. Business class again. Like what was he, following her ass around? Great, he must have been some fucking psycho that had a fixation on hot blond models and had been following her since the day she had appeared on her first runaway. How romantic. Ino had always had a thing for love stories.

And it is with the desire to kill the world that she had stepped into a taxi, at the L.A. airport, leaving the driver to cope with her luggage. He was maybe expecting she would screw her fucking French manicure helping him?! Dream on, buddy.

Sullen and irritated, she had kept her eyes turned towards the window, not caring much that she was getting checked out by the taxi driver. She didn't see much of L.A. that she liked. It was dimly lighted, in the middle of the night, and the only thing she did see where whores doing the streets and the flashing signs of low-class lawyers. Ironic. Did you know that joke?

_What is the difference between a lawyer and a whore? The whore stops fucking you when you die._

What is the difference between a whore and a model then? Honestly, she didn't know these days. These days, she pretty much felt like a whore that didn't get paid. She had fucked more guys in the last two years of her life than there could possibly be in Japan. And it had been fucking shit. The only thing she wanted after Milan was to go home.

She wanted to walk down the stairs of their building (she would take the elevator anyways), unlock the door, inhale a track and cuddle her wife's soft body. She wanted to forget all the shit that had went down in the past week. She'd have to go down to the hospital to get some blood tests done. She had done dumb shit, such fucking dumb shit and it frightened her.

The idea that she might wake up one morning with HIV or something else was haunting her. But she couldn't stop now. She needed to get that photo-shoot. Stepping out of the car, she just threw some bills at the driver. More than what he deserved for sure, but she didn't care. She fucking didn't care.

Looking up at what was an average L.A. building, with the damn palm trees and all that smelly kitsch, she sighed. Home sweet home. The building was decent. They had it all; it was a fifteen-storied building, the type of decent apartment block with a speakerphone. Not ritzy enough for you to get mugged walking out of it and not lame enough for you to see a corpse on the stairs.

Of course, living in L.A. was not cheap. Even for an efficiency-type apartment like theirs, they had to put seven hundred aside a month for the damn rent. It was a crummy, teeny tiny shoe-box in the basement. No windows, barely any air-conditioning, only the noise of water going through the piping. And Hina was slaving her ass off working two jobs and maintaining her. 'Cause Ino had become the equivalent of a vulgar sugar baby, and a cheap one at that.

Entering the building, she walked right towards the elevator. The inside had been painted in some disgusting blue color and it smelled of a mix of bleach and cat piss. Playing with her keys, she was making the exact type of noise that was driving her crazy in any other occasion. Fuck.

With shaking hands, Ino started rummaging through her handbag again. She needed a smoke. But before she lighted it, she remembered that doing so in an elevator would get her in the type of shit she did not need this late in the night.

Cigarette between her lips, making enough ruckus with her luggage to raise the dead, she marched towards what was a door painted in yellow. The fucker that had painted the building must have been colorblind, because that was the only sane explanation for all this shit. Before she shoved her keys inside of the lock, the door was thrown open and, in the darkness of the apartment, a pair of shining, pale eyes waited for her.

Pulling in her luggage, Ino dropped her purse to the floor before kicking the door shut. She had nothing to tell that ghostly form that was fidgeting with its fingers right in front of her. She had been excited to see her. For fuck's sake, she hadn't seen the woman for over three weeks, since she'd been running from one place to the other.

Having her lighter in the hand, she brought it to the tip of her cigarette. Breathing in slowly, she grabbed the cigarette, blew out some smoke and forced a smile. Well, she must have looked like a fucking monster because Hinata took a step back.

Oh for fuck's sake, she wasn't _Hitler_ for her wife to always turn around her as if she was going to explode. Mind you, the bitch did know Ino better than her own mother (not that that was difficult).

"I ain't gonna get a hug? You didn't miss me or what, bitch? Come and kiss your wifey!"

"Y-you didn't call …"

Aw fuck. They were not going to go through this again. Every damn time Ino was going on location, Hinata had to bitch about her not calling. What the fuck did she want Ino to tell her when she was on another continent trying for her face to stand out in a mass of other famished, worn-down and fucked up chicks.

'_Hey, baby, today I fucked this or that photographer, hoping to get him to ask for me. He did me in the ass and I think that now I know how dudes in St. Quentin feel._'

Taking her trench off, she let it join the purse in a formless lump on the floor. She honestly didn't need all this shit. Walking right by Hinata, she let herself fall on the mattress that was pushed against the wall and took up more than half of their cupboard-apartment. This was too miserable to look at honestly.

She should be nicer to the chick that had paid the first trips to Paris and London so that Ino could take part in those degrading cattle calls and land her first catwalk. The good old days when they had arrived with barely a few thousands to the US, taken a room in some truly revolting motel and married in a dumb administrative office. Hinata had made everything happen. Ino had always thought that she was a little dumb and had been proven otherwise.

Hina had found a job _presto_, barely five days after them landing, and had transformed, months later, her K-1 visa into a permanent residency. The apartment had appeared out of nowhere. Ino had been lost, trying desperately to get that guy Kisame had sent for her to come around and introduce her to Konan Red of _Red Dawn_, and had been of no help at all. In fact, she had never been of any help, more like a weight pulling Hinata down.

Here she was, making shit happen for herself. It wasn't going the way she wanted, but it was moving. She was known, she was asked for, she got jobs while Hinata was still working like a small-scale photographer (even that only because Kurenai had had enough respect for Hinata to relegate a little bit to her and make her studio grow). At that rhythm, Hinata would never make it while Ino had already made it to some extent (she was better off than so many other chicks).

And yet, she couldn't fucking get herself to feel bad about it. The only fucking bitch Ino cared about was herself and Hina was only another way she had to love herself. Which did not imply she did not love Hina, she just had a weird, parasitical way to go about it.

She was a monster that way and that is why she survived and made it happen. The word _shame_ was not part of her vocabulary. After all, she was the girl that had walked naked right into Konan Red's office and made love to her and Payne Dawn at once. Not actually fucked them, but kissed their ass, with her tongue up their hole. Mind you, she would have fucked them right then, right there. Wouldn't have been the first time.

Keeping on smoking, her boots on their mattress, she closed her eyes for an instant, letting Hina pick her shit up and shove it into their only cupboard by the door. Mostly filled with Ino's clothes, shoes, coats. Fact was, she had no idea where Hinata put her own shit. Maybe she hung them in their tiny washroom. She didn't want to think about it. She'd rather remember, with a certain sick and misplaced pride, the way she had made Konan Red sign her to her agency.

**Flashback**

There were people that had bad luck in life. And then, there was Yamanaka Ino. She was a fucking magnet for shitty happenings.

So here she was standing by this man (shorter than her too), that was dressed as if he were a real, high-class Italian mafioso. The guy wore an _Armani_ suit as if it were nothing but a pair of jeans he'd thrown on to go shovel some manure. He didn't care a shit about it and that made him look so much hotter.

But their complete family was … _had been_ … hot. Because of course, with her bad luck, who was it that Kisame had sent for her? Uchiha Itachi. She should have just fucking stuck her hand out to him and said:

'_Hello there. My name is Yamanaka Ino. For your information, I know your baby brother. I actually used to sexually molest him when we were thirteen. Nice to meet you._'

Shivering, she shot a glance at the reception chick. Way of eye-fucking him, girl. You can also lose some more of your dignity by letting your panties drop to the floor, if you are wearing any.

Rubbing her arms up and down, she turned around and scanned the row of offices in front of her. On the walls, freaky pictures of freaky girls. _Red Dawn_ in one word. _Freaky_.

That agency specialized in models that were able to do everything and anything. The number one characteristic of any _Red Dawn_ girl (or guy) was that she was shameless. Ino scanned the faces on the wall. Disproportionate, androgynous, pierced, aggressive, tortured. All sexy, all dark. What the fuck was Ino doing here?

"Itachi, you know Konan is so very busy. She really wanted to see the girl but she is very taken at the moment."

Very taken. Fucking again. That Konan Red bitch was driving Ino crazy. Again. She was not available again. In other words, she was making fun of her. Why not, Ino was nothing but a nineteen-year old failure to her eyes. And she would prove her wrong … if she ever got the chance

What did she have to do to finally get her attention? Prance around naked?! Prance around naked …

Turning around, Uchiha Itachi, with his long hair and his cold, dark eyes, just shot her a dismissing glance. He did not need to speak anymore. The message was clear enough. Konan Red was not willing to see Ino and he didn't need to invest anymore of his time.

Yeah, you know what, buddy?! Fuck you!

Bending over, Ino grabbed the hem of her baby blue dress and simply passed it over her head. Since free-balling wasn't averse to her, she just flashed the receptionist with her twins and threw the dress over Itachi's shoulder.

"Hey, sweetie, you tell me which office is Konan's or am I to take a guess?!"

With a raised eyebrow at her, Itachi simply moved aside. He would have been amused had his stone face been able to show any emotion, Ino was sure. The fucking bastard. She'd show him too.

Since she wasn't getting an answer, but attracting a shitload of glances, she decided finally to take a guess and just walked right passed them. By the time the receptionist realized what was happening, Ino and her little, blue lace string were knocking on the biggest door and waiting to be received.

A hand on the knob, she tried to turn it. Heh, it was locked. Ino had experience with locked johns. Let us see whether the same concept applied to gorgeous, ornamental wood doors. Raising her flat-clad foot, she simply kicked the knob in and looked at the high-class wood of that high-class door conveniently crack.

It was time to teach these fucking, snotty snobs a good lesson. Grabbing the knob once again, she had no problems in opening the door this time. Had she been more of a show-off, she could have turned around and bowed to the peanut gallery that had gathered for the cheap show.

And what did she find inside of the office? Hello, office sex, or at least office foreplay. Seated on what seemed to be one of those arrogant, pure leather office chairs was a man with the most ridiculous mop of orange hair she had ever seen. What was it with his face? Had _Freddie_ been more high-class, instead of acne craters he would have had piercing holes, just like that dude.

His place was in a tattoo parlor, not sitting on the armchair of a modelling agency, dressed in what seemed to be a ridiculously expensive suit. Without a tie of course, you could force a freak into a suit, but making him mainstream was another story. Payne Dawn. The guy that had bankrupted his way into the select circle of stinking-rich assholes. Yes, bankrupted; his speciality was to buy off companies, fragment them and resell their pieces to _Wall Street_ sharks.

That was one of his specialities; the other seemed to be to having office foreplay with a blue-haired, blue-eyed ex-supermodel gone slave owner. Seated on her desk, her white linen shirt wide open and her bra pushed down was Konan Red. Her Estonian snootiness stank like shit, and even with her boobs exposed to the general public, the stick that had been shoved up her ass at birth did not seem to want to get out.

Hair down, skirt around her hips, Konan simply, as if no naked chick had interrupted her right when she was about to get a tongue-massage down there, turned her head around and asked with that low, Baltic voice of hers:

"Can I help you?"

Well, how about _fuck yeah_?!

Throwing the small portfolio she was toting around even when she went to the shitter (you never know whom you'll meet in the shitter when you are a model), Ino put her hands on her hips.

"Before you ask, I'm naked because you would have asked me anyways to show you my goodies. Ino Yamanaka. You'll want to write down that name, because it is gonna make you rich."

Looking around at that expensive-shit-suffused office covered in freaky photos of even freakier girls, she raised an eyebrow at the two lovebirds.

"Well, richer than you already are."

Trying to conceal her smile, Konan grabbed the portfolio, not disturbed at all by her or her interlocutor's nudity. But Ino was getting chilly and her nipples were starting to point. Her twins had always been attention whores. What was it with them fucking Californians and air conditioning?

Leafing through the photographs, the blue-haired modelling guru inched closer to her boytoy, whispering something to his ear and pointing at a specific picture in the portfolio. Leisurely caressing his chin, he simply eyed Ino, not that interested seemingly but surely enjoying the show.

"Is this the moment I start turning around for Mister to get a better view of the merchandise, or maybe would you guys prefer for me to lose my string too?"

Raising an invisible eyebrow at her, Konan this time could not supress the smile that was threatening to appear on her lips. This girl had an attitude she loved. But the only problem was the look. Sure, this Ino Yamanaka that Kisame had sent them from the other side of the planet could have been considered exotic in Japan, but in the US, she was pretty trivial. She had an interesting, almost elfin face, but was that enough for her to make it nowadays, when ugly was hot and too much was just perfect? Doubtful.

But then again, the same had been said about Konan until Payne had picked her up and made her huge. Not that he had known anything about modelling, but he had had money to spare and she had had ass to give.

"You can keep your string on. Your pictures are ok, but you don't have what it takes. Too mainstream. I would have taken you by principle a few years ago, but I got sick investing in what doesn't generate any profits, if you see what I mean."

Chuckling, Ino simply threw her hair over her shoulder and like the wildcat that she was walked towards the desk Konan was seated on, flattening her hands on it and pushed her face into the agency owner's.

"Cut the crap and pull your head out of yours ass, Konan. These girls you endorse can be picked up at any street corner. Being original is good, but having something a little more … how'd you called it, _mainstream_? … is not bad either. No one will pay big bucks for your average crackwhore. That's why _Red Dawn_ is stagnating. But I am here to change that, baby. The only thing I need is your signature at the end of a contract, is all."

Ino had gotten accustomed to the average American mentality of _go big or go home_. When she gambled, she did it with no second thoughts. And until now, it had paid off.

Lips so close to Ino's, Konan let her minty breath play across the girl's chin. She had attitude and her pictures showed that she was adaptable. Plus, she had that little something aggressive that had always attracted Konan. But, the fact was, if there was one person that did not like being fucked in the ass, it was Konan Red.

"Listen, _baby_, let's make a deal, you and I. You think you can make it, and make it big? Ok, I won't sign you, but I'll give you the right to use Itachi as agent and our phone number. You won't get any loans from _Red Dawn_, no help, nothing, but if you are able to make our phone ring and people, and I don't mean porn producers, ask for you, we'll reconsider. How about that?"

Ever seen snakes have sex? They rolled around each other, lost themselves, shoved their genitalia here and there until eventually hitting the jackpot. Ino felt like she had a forked dick and was trying to shove it into Konan's slit. And failing miserably.

She needed money to take part in cattle calls that would land her runaways and eventually, maybe, make a name for herself. But, this was the best she would get at age nineteen. No one serious would sign her, she was too old. Well, Ino's specialty was to make big with little.

"We've got a deal as long as you don't make me join in your … office work."

Glancing sideways at Payne Dawn who was getting annoyed at having his dick's needs ignored by two naked (or almost) women, she simply flashed him a superior smile. Well buddy, you're little soldier just got a taste of what it was having Yamanaka Ino prancing around naked. Distracting was the word.

Straightening, she turned her back and marched towards the door, trying to fake it since she hadn't made it, or had half made it. But before she walked out, Konan called her attention back to her.

"I'll send the bill for the door to you."

Fuck Ino's life, seriously.

**End of Flashback**

Someone pulling her shoes off, and at the same time tearing off the little skin left on them, made her snap out of her musings. Opening her eyes she realized that the light had been turned on and that Hinata was kneeling in front of the mattress, busying herself with Ino's high-end ankle-boots.

"For fuck's sake, I can pull my shoes off by myself, Hina."

Trying to move her feet away from her wife's claws, the only thing she succeeded was to almost get her ankle sprained. She didn't look it, but Hinata was pretty strong, especially when she decided to do something. She was the dude of the couple.

"S-stay still."

Propping herself on her elbows, Ino shot her wife a glance. There was something servile that she had always disliked about Hinata, but at the same time Ino had always known how to take advantage of that natural meekness her wife had going on.

"You s-should c-care more for your f-feet. They are y-your most important asset."

Oh for crying out loud, she was not her mother! Could she drop the fucking mother-knows-best tone, or was Ino to throw a tantrum here and now? Honestly, had she known she was about to marry a vagina that believed it had been shred to give way to her, Ino would have ran away to New York and hoboed her way through life.

"Hina … I need a track …"

Raising her head to scrutinize Ino's face as if she had horns sticking out of her forehead, Hinata let a sigh escape her. Ino would get aggressive in 3 … 2 …1.

"How about you t-take your d-dose t-tomorrow m-morning? You w-won't be able to sleep …"

And shit went down.

Kicking Hinata's hand away, Ino immediately sat up and glared at her … whatever she was.

"Listen, Hinata, you are not my fucking mother. I honestly don't need for you to do the job that other bitch obviously didn't want. I am a big girl. When I don't want to fucking call, I fucking won't and when I want a track of snow, I am going to get it. Whenever I want to. Back the fuck off."

Standing up, she passed the black turtleneck she was wearing over her head and just threw it to the wall. Walking towards the kitchenette, Ino rummaged frantically through some drawers, not remembering where she had hidden her stash again. Becoming panicked at the idea that she had none at hand, she all but tore a drawer out and turned it over for all the forks, spoons and knives to fall to the floor.

Well bingo! Among all that stainless, she found what she had been looking for. A small white pouch. Thank the Lord for the small joys.

Leaving all that shit on the floor, she swiftly spread the content of the pouch on the counter of the kitchenette. Bending over she grabbed a knife and carefully oriented the powder as to make a fine, neat line.

Under Hinata's reproachful glare, Ino simply inhaled the coke and massaged her perfectly straight nose. And now that her need had been satisfied, even if the shit had yet to kick in, she calmed down and regretted already having lashed out at that cute little bundle of shyness that was her very own Hina.

Starting to pick up everything she had so nicely dropped to the floor, she did her best to organize it the way she knew Hinata did it and with some difficulty, pushed the drawer back into place.

Aw fuck, way of being a bitch, Ino.

"Hey, love, I am sorry. I am a real mess these days. I feel like I am PMSed, just times one hundred."

Flashing her most seductive smile, Ino approached their bed and sat down, leaning against the wall behind her. Spreading her legs, she tapped the spot between them and begrudgingly, sending her a warning glare, Hinata crawled into the space and let Ino's arms fold around her waist.

"I missed you …"

Cuddling Hinata's slender neck, Ino gave it a lick, hoping to make Hina's tense shoulders relax. Well that was a fail.

"Why are y-you a m-mess? S-something h-happened?"

'_If only you knew, Hina. If only you knew._'

Honestly, she didn't need Hinata meddled up in the details of her fucked up existence. But the way she had messed up their reunion, she better tell her at least some of the truth, or Hina would be sulking for the next two weeks, and Ino didn't fucking need any more drama than she already had, honestly.

"Hina … I am sick walking down the runaway for _BCBGMAXAZRIA_, _Dolce & Gabbana_ and the likes of them. So fucking sick. I need to land a photo-shoot and it seems I am just not able to do it. I. Fucking. Don't. Know. What. To. Do …"

Of course, Hinata was not a fucking dumbass. She very well knew what it was any girl in the Industry needed to do to land a stint. You didn't need to be an Einstein to get that everyone wanted to push their dime into a working girl's slot. She just didn't need to think about Ino abused by a bunch of old farts.

Pushing away the horrid images that came to her mind, Hinata leaned into Ino, letting a sigh escape her. She was the lucky one. She had a job where she was respected and friends that loved her. Kiba and Shino, Kurenai and little Asuma. She was independent and did not rely one nothing but her talent to get some more work.

In fact, Kurenai had been so satisfied with her work that she had made her an associate. It was Hinata that took care of the portfolio shootings and did it quite well. Agents remembered her and some agents only wanted her. And even sometimes, when Kurenai was off on location for the day, she got asked how _her_ Hinata was doing. Sure, it wasn't _Vogue_ or _W Magazine_ or _Marie Claire_, for that matter, but she wouldn't have exchanged it for a degree in Economy at the University of Tokyo.

Turning around to take a good look at Ino, whom she hadn't seen for a long while, she realized how worn down she was in reality. The dope was starting to kick in, her pupils dilated and she just threw her head back. Under those luminous blue eyes, heavy black bags had settled and not even industrial concealer was helping. Her hair, sun-kissed, long, gorgeous, seemed grey and dirty, which it wasn't. Already skeletal, Ino had become a corpse in decomposition. A very sexy corpse in decomposition.

Pff. She fucking hated pity, and pity from her wife was a real ass-burner. Grasping that little Japanese nose, Ino pinched hard before turning Hinata's head to the side. What was it with the bitch being such a pain so late in the night?

"Go to sleep. You've got work tomorrow … Fucking today. There's something in the fridge, say? You just sleep, I'll take a shower."

And before Hinata could say anything, before she could grab for Ino's arm and pull her into a hug, Ino had already jumped up, turned off the light and went to rummage on the other side of their _apartment_.

Hinata had told her she wouldn't be able to sleep if she sniffed some that late in the night.

….

"What the fuck's with that face?! Someone killed your dog or what?"

Count on Kiba to find a way to mention a dog somewhere. Any dog, any conversation. But at the moment, Hinata did not need his loudmouth attitude. Funny, she hadn't seen him in three weeks and instead of rushing to him and hugging him hard, as she would've done in any other circumstance, she just kept her eyes glued to Kurenai's _Mac_, trying to put some order in their files.

Seeing her wife sprawled half naked on the tiled floor of their tiny bathroom would have had a negative effect on any normal human being. On Hinata it had had the effect of a replay of Hiroshima. This was just getting out of hand.

Sure, Ino was doing decently well in the Industry, but she would never talk about what it is that she was actually doing with Hinata. Virtually, Hinata knew nothing about Ino's work besides where she was going, when and how much she would get for it.

In an instant, her thoughts were short-circuited. 'Cause someone had just pinched her nose and held steady until she realized she wasn't breathing anymore. Coughing, she pushed Kiba's hand aside, glaring up at him.

"Aw, baby, don't look at me like that. I fucking missed you and here you are, giving me the cold shoulder for no reason. I even brought you a gift … that will end up in your wife's possession anyways, look."

Holding up an adorable _Bottega Veneta_ peach-colored clutch, he winked at her seductively.

_You know you want it. _

A tear threatened to spill. Looking up to the man that was leaning over the counter, his kind dark eyes sadly asking for some love and attention (even if he would have never admitted that he were a fucking pussy), she just felt like sending the whole world to hell. Between Ino and Kiba, she didn't know who needed more help. One was lonely like shit and dissatisfied with his job. The other was dissatisfied with her job like shit and lonely.

Standing up and walking around her working counter, Hinata just threw herself at Kiba's side.

"I d-don't want your d-dumb clutch."

He felt fucking fantastic. It was all it took for him to feel like his dick had just grown five inches. A hug from Hinata. Her trembling, light form pressed against his side, the perfume of her shampoo and laundry detergent all around him, all that was priceless and that shitty _Bottega Veneta_ could go to fucking hell. Her wife would hyperventilate when she'd see that crap, not knowing that getting it implied him and Hinata pressing against each other.

Since he had started to learn her fucking schedule by heart, he knew there would be no costumers for a good while; this left them a few hours to cuddle together on those leather armchairs he loved. Picking her up as if she were nothing but a bag of potatoes, he carried Hinata towards the armchair and dropped his ass onto it, with her seated on his lap.

"Hey, don't you dare cry. You'll screw up my shirt."

A snort. He loved it when she snorted. Making her jump up and down his knee, he forced some giggles out of her before pushing her hair aside and meeting her eyes. So pale, as if she were blind, but for those that actually cared to look carefully, they could see a darker region right in the middle of her eye, most probably her pupil.

"Come on, now, spill the shit. I know ya ain't PMSed, I know your cycle by heart."

How freaky was that? He fucking knew her cycle; the next step was going through her thrash to recuperate all her sanitary pads … or tampons, or whatever it was that chicks shoved up their snitch. It was far from the freakiest thing he had done, and so he did consider it for a second.

Pinching her belly under her shirt, he got her to scream like a piglet. This chick was the best fucking thing that had happened in his whole life. Writhing around and trying to escape his avenging hand, she almost fell to the floor and broke her nose.

Settling her back on, he marvelled how close they had become. The Hinata of their beginnings would have most probably just fainted, and here she was, seated on his lap, letting him pet her head.

"It's … Ino."

Well of course it was Ino. Was this the right moment for him to tell her to get that dumb divorce already and run off with him into the sunset? Yeah, no.

"What about wifey-dearest? She's gonna get a fucking _Bottega Veneta_! What more does she want?"

Turning that vulnerable face towards him with that expression he didn't want anybody else to see, she parted her lips ever so softly, hesitated. Like the predator that he was, he stalked the small tongue that appeared and licked her dry lips. She wasn't sure how to talk about it with him. Snaking an arm around her, he simply pulled her towards his chest.

"Hina, I won't tell anyone, y'know that. Maybe I can help?"

'_Help you by paying the lawyer that'll divorce the two of you mostly._'

Taking a shuddering breath, Hinata hid her face in her fine, fragile hands. She needed to muster her courage to so openly discuss private thing, especially those concerning Ino. Had her wife known about this, she would have shoved her head into a toilet bowl and made her lick it clean.

"W-well … s-she is very tired. She … she w-wasn't able to get a photo-s-shoot j-just of y-yet and it worries her, is all."

"So she lashes out at you? Great excuse."

"It's n-not t-that way! S-she is k-kind to me. She is j-just worried."

Aw fuck. The chick was so stuck to her bimbo of a wife that he didn't know what to say about that. Sure, he could just shove his head up his ass and imagine all the hot sex that those two could partake in. But it just didn't work that way. His dick shrivelled at the idea of it.

Rubbing his head raw as if he were trying to clean his brain, he let an exasperated sigh escaping him and hit Hinata right in the eyes. Well at least, a thing Kiba did not have in common with dogs was his breath.

"I hope your wifey is as cheap as I imagine her to be. Hana is launching her first collection for women … and she busted her budged on a specific model and photographer. She needs cheapos to fill in."

That's when Hinata swooned and fell face first on the floor. Bless the Lord for the enormous fucking joys.

"Fuck, Hina, you okay?! What the hell, woman?!"

Trying to force her up, Hinata found herself being pulled between Kiba's legs. Realizing what he was doing, he dropped her arm and actually pushed her away and brought his legs together in a very unmanly fashion.

Standing up swiftly, the both of them reddened and looked at each other awkwardly. What the hell was that, you pussy?! He had had Hinata where he wanted her, at least in his raunchy fantasies, and here he goes almost throwing the girl to the wall.

"Ha-ha-ha. So yeah … Hana needs some chicks to be the face of her new collection …"

Appearing out nowhere, like a fucking ghost set for a trek in the mountains, Kurenai had to meddle into their business and make it even more awkward.

"Hana's photo-shoot? Right! She was able to book Gaara for it, wasn't she? I hope he's giving her a discount, you guys are pretty much family. But she's mostly doing it for Temari, right? I mean, since she is out of detox, she didn't get any offers, she needs someone to launch her back into the spotlight."

"Yo, old woman, do not appear out of nowhere like that … and we are not family with the Sabaku-No!"

Chuckling, Kurenai just lowered _Ray Ban_ sunglasses from her head over her red eyes.

"Well, your sister is going to marry him eventually, isn't she?"

"K-Kiba … y-you're s-sister is going to m-marry Gaara Sabaku-No? The p-photographer?"

'_Oh my fucking God, what the hell is this craziness?! Hana and Gaara. Please someone, kill me here and now …_'

"She is not going to marry Gaara, silly Hinata. She is engaged to Kankuro Sabaku-No! He's two years younger too. Her own sexy little chew-toy. You heard of him? He is the frontman for _Puppeteers_, a heavy metal band. Pretty heavy. They are decently known."

"Oh y-yes, I read something a-about them in a m-magazine. They wear a lot of m-make up … and are w-weird."

"She is not going to marry ANYONE. Over my cold, dead body!"

Raising an eyebrow at him, Kurenai wholly redirected her attention to Hinata.

"Did you know that Kiba, until the age of fifteen, always maintained he would marry his sister … and then, she ran away to France, to work for _Balenciaga_ and met Temari Sabaku-No who matched her up with her brother Kankuro … and Kiba's proposal was forgotten. Not that it would have been legal, mind you."

"I do not have a fucking sister complex. And stop talking about me as if I weren't fucking there! Leave my sister out of this, Kurenai, you old hag!"

Hands raised in a defensive gesture, head thrown back and laughter washing over her, Kurenai Yūhi would have been an interesting model for a photo. According to Hinata at least. Had she been less _woman_, with those curves Hinata envied her, Kurenai could have strutted down the runaway herself.

"But I am happy she is launching her own collection. After that little outburst she had against _Alexander Wang_, I was sure she was going to get kicked out of _Balenciaga_, and driven into the ground by that sneaky Taiwanese snake. It will do her a lot of good to strain herself. Anyways, off I am, kids. Don't do anything I wouldn't do myself."

Walking out, she headed towards her _BMW_, checking she had everything before droving off.

Turning back to Kiba who had dropped his ass back on the black leather, Hinata leaned onto the counter, amazed at everything she had heard. Gaara Sabaku-No, _THE_ Gaara Sabaku-No was _almost_ Hana Inuzuka's brother-in-law, and Hana Inuzuka was Kiba's sister. And Kiba was offering Ino her first photo-shoot.

"Listen, Hina, the thing is … the photo-shoot is tomorrow. In New York."

It took a good two minutes for what he had said to register.

"T-tomorrow?"

Cautiously, he nodded. The face she was making at the moment made him regret not to have a paperback at hand. She seemed to be about to start hyperventilating. However, she had the good sense to leave that for later and all but jumped on the studio's phone.

"Come on … pick up your phone …"

"_Mmph … the fuck you're calling for this early in the morning, Hina ..?_"

Too excited to control herself, she let out a high-pitched scream at hearing Ino's hoarse morning voice.

"_The hell's that?! You okay, Hina? You at work?_"

"Ino … y-you want a photo-shoot? You heard of Hana I-Inuzuka?"

"_Hana Inuzuka? The ex-Balenciaga couturier? The one that beat the shit out of Alexander Wang and got away with it? What about her?_"

Jumping up and down under Kiba's weary glance, she almost dropped the receiver.

"She's lauching a collection for w-women. She h-has a photo-shoot for her catalog t-tomorrow. She needs f-female m-models."

Waving to attract her attention, Kiba reminded Hinata to mention that the pay would be crappy.

"Y-you won't get paid much though."

"Mention Temari and Gaara Sabaku-No."

"I-Ino, the p-photographer is Gaara S-Sabaku-No and you'll be w-working with Temari Sabaku-N-No …"

"_Temari? She's out of detox? What she doing, modelling for some newbie?_"

"I d-don't know, Ino, geez. You t-taking the job or not? 'Cause it is in N-New York and K-Kiba needs to know now!"

"_Kiba?! Who the fuck is Kiba?!_"

"You n-never listen t-to me when I tell you stuff. K-Kiba is the f-friend that takes me in when you are away. The m-model … K-Kiba Inuzuka. Ino, I t-told you one hundred times already."

Kiba shook his head and rolled his eyes at the conversation those two were having. How the fuck were chicks able to make friends with each other, let alone marry. It was beyond him.

Silence on the other end of the line. _Tic, tock, tic, tock_. Kiba flashed his canines in distaste. _It's time to feed the croc_.

"_Ok. I'll fucking do it. Tell him … I'll fucking do it. Can you book a plane ticket for me?_"

As Hinata nodded significantly to Kiba, he wondered whether he just got his anus stretched beyond repair by two clueless chicks.

Fuck his life. He was going for sainthood.

….

Whenever Ino was given an opportunity it had to be a two-edged sword. A photo-shoot had fallen from the skies and right into her lap. Thanks to Hina, mostly. Hinata made it all happen to the point where Ino wondered how she could have lived before meeting her.

But of course, the photo-shoot could not have been with a normal, mostly lecherous photographer. No, it had to be Gaara Sabaku-No. Also known in the Industry as the Eliminator, spin-off of the _Terminator_. Why the Eliminator?! Because, the model that could please the guy had yet to be found. There was his sister; however rumors had it that she didn't match his artistic ideals more than any other, just that since she was his sister he couldn't throw a camera at her, or burn her with artificial lighting.

How many girls had seen their star fall after having gone through Gaara Sabaku-No? At least seventy percent of the models he worked with. And since he was at the top, he worked with a lot of girls. There were three types of girls, those that disappeared as soon as he was done with them, those that remained scarred and never wanted to work with him again and those he had to pay indemnity to. Those were the most to pity.

Ino wondered what category she would end up in. However, she had had no choice. This was it, make it or break it. She hoped she would end up in the scarred category. But hey, at least her first shooting wasn't with her father. That would have been awkward. All that photo-sex-talk photographers had going on would have been a real ass-burner with good ol' Giacomo.

Seated in a chair, she was looking at hairdresser and make-up artist busying themselves around Temari Sabaku-No and some other anonymous models that had, like Ino, bet her whole life on the shooting.

Temari Sabaku-No, in a few words, was strangely washed-off. Her hair was not brown, nor was it blond. Her skin was not tanned, nor was it pale. Her eyes were not brown, nor were they any other color. The girl had no smell, color or taste. And that might have been her greatest asset. Ino had seen her in tens and tens of ads before she had gone crack-whore. And she had never been the same in any shot.

"Hello there, youthful blossom of beauty."

Okay. What the fuck?! While she had been engrossed in her highly intellectual thoughts, because, for your information, Ino was intellectual, someone, or better say something, had appeared in front of her. Clad in what appeared to be an infect green leotard, with a bowl-cut and a ridiculous metal box at hand, was a … she had no fucking idea what the hell it was, but it made her wonder whether a nuclear plant had exploded all over him.

"I am Lee and my job is to transform you into a youthful expression of art and charm and beauty and explosive lovely youth."

How many times had he … she … it referred to youth, again!? Looking around for the emergency exit, Ino felt her heart skip a beat. There was no fucking way that _that_ would get near her with anything like an eye crayon!

"You can trust us, dear, we know what we are doing."

Turning her head around, she was greeted with the smile of a bun-headed chick dressed in some cheap Chinese silk shirt. She had fucking buns (someone was repeating herself) on the top of the head and a curling iron in her hand. In her hand, that curling iron looked like a butcher knife.

_Nuh-uh_. Ino was not going to do it. She. Was. Not. Fucking. Going. To. Let. Them. Get. Near. Her.

And that is how Yamanaka Ino found herself being pricked in the eye with an eye crayon and burned on the neck by a curling iron. And then, the burn had been rubbed raw with industrial foundation. This was starting well.

And she truly believed that this had to be a nightmare. Until appeared Hana Inuzuka. What to say about fucking Hana Inuzuka. She was … not what one would imagine a snotty ex-_Balenciaga_ couturier to be. Walking right in while the models were changing, she just grabbed Temari from behind and gave her a big hug. She flashed her developed canines a lot. Laughed like a dude. And dressed … in her own collection, which was quite revealing.

"Hey, you're the girl Kiba sent over right?"

"That would be me."

In one glance, Hana knew what that girl was all about. It didn't take much to be able to pinpoint a person perfectly. Those shinning eyes were junkie eyes, Hana had seen those same eyes every day during six months when Temari came back from her photo-shoots with Sasuke Uchiha. And hungry. That little girl Kiba was sending her was famished like a wolf.

"First photo-shoot, eh? I think I saw you on some runaways. _D&G_ maybe?"

If there was one thing Ino fucking hated was when she had the impression someone was mindfucking her, and that was something that designer chick was most probably good at.

"Can you stop staring at me as if I were a piece of meat? I fuck photographers, not designers and you're not my type anyways. And yeah, most probably _Dolce_. You mind telling me whether it is normal that I can almost see my clit with the slit on these shorts?"

Pushing aside the robe she was wearing, she revealed a pair of shorts that had a ridiculously daring slit that went from the hips all the way down to the pussy, showing off most of the pelvic region.

"If you can't see it, means I haven't done a good job."

A superior smile grazed Hana's thin mouth before she turned around and called all the girls to come with her. Gaara was waiting for them. So Gaara, eh? Well, there wasn't much to say about him, was there? Where the fuck was all that crazy infatuation for him coming from, Ino did not know.

At first glance, he got classified in the dwarf category. The world must have gone crazy about dwarf-porn or something for him to become a sex symbol. But then, there was this rule of thumb that said that if a dude was short, he must at least have a huge dick to make up for it. He was about Hina's height.

What was tall for a chick was short for a dick, so said Ino at least. He had a hot face though, that much she had to say. The type of rugged, yet delicate, features that made any girls heart go boom-boom.

Something like Sasuke, just that Sasuke had the type of delicate, yet rugged, features. Not the same thing. And well, Sasuke couldn't be called very tall either.

Thin lips always pulled in a disgusted pout, somewhat bigger nose, pale eyes on tanned skin. Gaara would have been a bomb, with that vine-reddish hair had he not been short and had those gross black circles around his eyes.

But that god-awful situation had one good side to it. She was not being called first into the shooting. She would have the fucking time to see Gaara go berserk and throw shit at people before she had to read his mind and serve him some of her Ino-magic.

And she did have something to see. The guy did not talk. At all. His face remained completely blank as he weighed a camera in his hand and waited for Temari and another girl to take a pose.

And the girl made an obvious mistake, since before Gaara had even started taking shots; he walked slowly towards her and grabbed her by the hair before pushing her aside. A chuckle escaped Hana Inuzuka. At least someone was having fun. The chick though was horrified. But she would survive. In fact, looking at how she scrambled to her feet, Ino could assure that that one would go into the scarred category. Lucky chick.

But Gaara was the one that was suffering though. At least the way he was rubbing his eyes made one believe so. Fact was, he wasn't very expressive.

Temari straightened from her pose and ruffled her hair in exasperation. She knew all about Gaara's half-assed passive-aggressive scenes. He was just warming up. They didn't need another girl in the emergency like two years ago.

"Hey, Gaara, how about blondie, over there?"

Wow, thank you, you filthy wannabe of a designer. Who was Hana Inuzuka pointing at with her non-manicured finger?! Who the fuck didn't have a manicure in New York, seriously?! Well, the person she was pointing at was Ino.

For fuck's sake. Okay, what was it that this psycho of a photographer she had not fucked wanted?! How about _I have no fucking idea_?!

She walked towards Temari who was giving her a dismissive glance. The type that meant: '_you won't last, so no need to learn your name_'. A sure value would be to imitate whatever Temari did. The chick was that psycho's sister; she must have known what to do. At least have a fucking idea.

And that is what all the chicks that worked with him did, wasn't it? And they all ended up as heaps of burned flesh or the likes. So what the fuck was it that he wanted?!

As Temari took a submissive, soft and melancholic pose, Ino found herself wondering how many strands of hair there were around her pussy when she didn't go all Brazilian. 'Cause she obviously had no idea what else to do.

Honestly, at this point, she was already dead, wasn't she? Well, ok, fuck you, life. She would do what Yamanka Ino did the best, be herself.

As Temari slightly arched her back, raised a leg and gave a playful, childish pose to what was a terribly daring outfit, Ino simply turned her back to the photographer, and sweeping her hair to the side glared at Temari. Baby, I am not an innocent little angel sporting the whore look for nothing. She dominated Temari with her pose and attitude, placing a hand on her shoulder.

And strangely enough, she felt relieved when she heard the clicking sound of the camera.

A few times, she found herself staring at Gaara. He was not happy. In fact, with the way his nose would scrunch, she was sure he was repulsed by her. And she couldn't fucking care less. He hadn't thrown anything at her face, she was not bruised yet and he kept on making his little birdy-machine work.

He would never work with her again, it was written all over his face. But there was something she had done right for him to bear with it.

"I love it. That is exactly what I want. Innocent and feral."

Hana was satisfied. Scratch that, she was fucking ecstatic. She loved the contrast between rebellion and submission, aggression and softness. That was her brand. Shit she wanted anyone and everyone to wear, as revealing and _osé_ as it seemed. No wonder her label and boutique were called _Feral by Hana Inuzuka_.

Girls were switched. Temari remained, Ino was exchanged. Gaara did throw a flash at a girls head and made each and every one beside Ino and Temari whimper and cower. He didn't scream, he didn't demand, he simply kicked things around. When one of the girls got a kick to the ribs, Ino classified her in the _wrecked career_ category.

And then, Ino was called up alone. She gave it her all. She was not soft, she was not sweet, she did not play Hinata's role. Truth being said, even Temari didn't play it well.

Nah, Ino was the equivalent of a hardcore porn movie. She didn't try to fuck Gaara with her pose and look, it wouldn't work. Whoever had called the guy sexual must have been delusional.

He shoved his dick into pussies, that was his prerogative, but he was as sexual as a rock. Hana Inuzuka though was another story. The chick and her clothes oozed sex and it is her she tried to satisfy. She stalked her facial expressions, she focused on her and the camera kept on clicking. It never stopped, in fact.

Kicking off the excruciating heels she'd been forced to wear, clad in what had to be the scantiest shirt (if you could call it that) she had ever seen, she threw back her head, swept aside her luxurious blond mane with her hand, and, standing on tip-toes, gave Hana Inuzuka the biggest eyefuck she had ever giving anyone … besides maybe her wife during their foreplay (since foreplay was everything they did, Hinata had an allergy to latex and plastic, which limited the selection of toys they could use greatly). Childish and sexual was what the Industry wanted. Innocence you could consume is what sold their crap.

This was what she was born to do. She was born to sell dreams, since she had never been allowed to have her own (mind you, she had always been a rebellious one and dreamt on).

As the photo-shoot wrapped up, she felt as if she had been gang-banged big time. Not that she had ever fallen that low. Tentacle attack, or something like that. Japanese people were good for the electric chair since they invented such shit.

"I never want to work with that one again."

And that is how Yamanaka Ino made her debut in the photo-modelling branch of the Industry. Gaara Sabaku-No had kept his word though. This had been his first and last photo-shoot with her he had ever had.

He disliked the aggressive ones that tried to dominate him. They were usually exactly like this Ino Yamanaka that his sister-in-law had forced upon him. Stupid, vulgar, arrogant.

The soft and innocent though, the ones his sister so desperately tried to imitate and sometimes did succeed in pulling off, were different. Educated and raised, they had this humility that came with intellect. They were much more malleable.

However, this disgusting generic bimbo did have a good side to her. She knew her limits. She did not try to imitate the great models, such as his mother. She knew her place and that was as good as it got in the Industry. He hadn't had to break anything of hers to make her realize that she couldn't give him what he wanted.

Hana Inuzuka could not disagree more with him. She had known all types of models, supermodels, whatever. Having worked for _Dior_ as a student at her beginnings, she had seen all the branches of the Industry, from runaway to make-up modelling and knew each and every type of model there was out there.

At first glance, this Ino Yamanaka her brother had sent her was as average and uninteresting as any chick on the street. However, the way she just oozed confidence in front of the camera transformed her into something like a mythological beast.

She could become the _Cerberus_ of the Industry. One head for her vulgarity that would make her accessible to the average North American woman. One head for her sexiness that would drive men to buy whatever she was promoting because she held their dick tight. And one head for the childishness because, under all that attitude, the immaturity was palpable and spoke to the dark side of the Industry.

Well, hadn't Hana done a good deed, giving Ino her first chance at photo-modelling? She was going for sainthood here. She wondered though what base her baby-brother had hit with the chick for him to send her over like that. She just hoped there was nothing serious between Kiba and that Ino girl.

'Cause no one deserved to be stuck loving a shameless junkie like that girl who would walk over anyone's heart as long as it brought her a high or a shooting.

But, guarded by nature, it wasn't with Ino that Hana would have a nice conversation. The girl did her job grandly and knew her shit. She would get her money and her face in a catalogue and on a website. And Kiba would get an earful about sex, protection and relationships.

As Ino marched out of the dressing room clad in her own clothes, she was welcomed by Hana … who was also dressed in her own clothes. Would the chick seriously go out in that outfit to buy milk at the grocery store?! None of Ino's business.

"Hey, here's your cheque. You will be a good model."

Almost tearing the offered cheque out of Hana's hand, Ino just walked past the designer. Whatever she did, she would forever be viewed like dirt by them, wouldn't she? However, since her ego had always been slightly overweight, she could not simply let that last comment pass.

Before exiting the studio, she turned around and threw Hana a dismissive glance. She could play that game as well.

"I am already a model. And I will be the best of them all."

…

Hinata watched her wife wearily. Seated on the cold floor, she admired how, after all these years, Ino's silhouette had kept its lithe quality. She was fluid, to say the least. Everything about her undulated.

But Hinata would have honestly preferred for her to stop shaking her ass while lying on their mattress. Truth being said, she had nothing against the ass-shaking, it was more the news that made Ino do so that had her worried.

Coming back from New York in the late afternoon, Ino had all but tackled Hinata in their entrance and hugged her to the point of making her spine crack. Had it been because she had missed her, Hinata would not have held a grudge. But before she had had the time to greet her, Ino had shoved a magazine into her hands. _Entertainment Weekly_.

Hinata had made it a point of honor not to read, least of all believe, all the shit they dished in tabloids. However, the small article that Ino had shown her had had the effect of an atomic bomb on her. And Ino had been so engrossed in her joy that she had not even noticed the mood her _wife_ (because Hinata still was her _wife_) was in.

Sasuke Uchiha, Uchiha Sasuke, whatever, seemed to have come back to the US. And there was nothing Hinata needed less than him appearing in L.A. where he had his studio. After three years in England, working under _Vogue UK_'s favorite photographer, Orochimaru, he was ready to reconquer the American Industry.

And of course, Ino was thrilled. It was most probably because of him they had moved to L.A. in the first place. The thought was less than palatable to Hinata. Now, her feelings should not be misunderstood.

She was certainly not jealous of some Uchiha Sasuke that had left Japan at the age of fourteen, following his brother and guardian to the US. The Ino he had known had been nothing but a snotty teenager. A sad snotty teenager. And that was what worried her.

Ino had told Hinata all about her childhood. About what her stepfather did to her and how she had seduced Sasuke, then thirteen years old and her best friend's unrequited love, and had kept their affair going until he left for L.A. with Itachi. Who was Ino's agent, for crying out loud.

She had done it for so many reasons that all were wrong. And Hinata believed that having Sasuke, who was so intimately intertwined with a not so glorious part of Ino's life, prancing around L.A. would not be beneficial for the already fragile and far from perfect equilibrium that Ino had created for herself.

Honestly, Hinada did not need to look at Ino graduating from sniffing to needling. She was already out of control when it came to her cocaine addiction and she was worried that being put in contact with something that would remind her of how she started would just make matters worse.

But here was Ino, already making plans about how to charm him into taking her under his wing and propelling her higher than a photo-shoot for some barely known designer ever could. The sick twinkle in her eye scared Hinata. Whenever Ino spoke about Uchiha Sasuke she had a very proprietary tone, as if she knew things about him that insured her his _affection_.

Turning her elfin face towards Hinata, Ino winked at her, oblivious to the internal struggles her partner, wife, best friend, whatever she was, was undergoing. But Hinata knew better than to express her displeasure. Ino would take it as criticism and if there was one thing that sent Ino's pressure sky-rocketing, it was criticism.

Frowning, Hinata intently gazed at Ino and licked her lips distractedly. At that movement, Ino's usually clear cerulean eyes darkened to the point of resembling sea during a tempest. She had fucked a lot of people however what she had going on with Hinata was unusual to say the least.

Turning around and seating herself on the mattress, she extended a hand, knowing full well her Hina would understand the message. And so she did, crawling towards their mattress she shyly approached Ino. As her skin took an inviting crimson hue, Ino pulled her Hinata between her legs.

Still on her knees, to keep equilibrium, Hinata placed her hands on Ino's shoulders. From her height, she looked down into Ino's perfect face. In their moments of intimacy, Hinata truly realized how fragile and vulnerable Ino was. Looking up into Hinata's eyes, Ino's slanted blue ones expressed so much hope. She just took the wrong decisions in how to realize her dreams. But Hinata could not tell her how to do it otherwise.

"Hina … kiss me" Ino whisphered, anticipative.

Feeling even more heat creep up to her face, she could swear she was as red as a tomato, however, under Ino's amused glare, she lowered her head and chastely grazed her lips with her own. However, that certainly wasn't what Ino had in mind.

Letting her tongue point from between her teet, Ino let it travel across Hinata's pulp lip. As her heart picked up pace, Hinata was sure she would faint. She would have wanted to turn her head away in shame. Her father's voice appeared from nowhere in such situations, whispering unwelcome words to her ear. But Ino's heated gaze maintained her in place.

Before she could grasp what had happened, she felt an intense pain spread through her lower lip. It found itself caged between Ino's perfect, pearl-white teeth. Gasping at the new sensation, Hinata cleared the way for Ino's tongue to penetrate her and take over. That was what Ino did the best. She had a lot of practice to say the least.

As Ino took control of Hinata's mouth, she snaked a hand up ribs, past her breasts, over her throat before sweeping back her bangs and staring without any constraint in those pale, expressionless eyes. There was no one in the world that was more devoted to Ino than Hinata. She was like _Hachiko_ the dog. Were Ino to die, she was quite sure Hinata would follow suite. She was a precious help.

Breaking their kiss, Ino did not leave a chance for Hinata to gather her wits or to steady her breathing. She let the words escape her lips in the most pathetic, vulnerable way she could imagine.

"Hina … love, help me. Only you can help me."

As if she had been electrocuted, Hinata moved away from Ino, staring at her with unconcealed reproach. She had used her kiss against Hinata. It had been a low blow, not the first time Ino pulled such a stint against her.

It was her manner to remind Hinata that there was only one person in the whole world that loved her. But that her loved was conditional. She had always despised that vulgar, manipulative side that spoke of Ino's intellectual flaws.

But what was it worth trying to change her now? The only thing Hinata could do was help her, since she had no better suggestion to make. Ino needed Sasuke. Hinata needed Ino. Did that mean Hinata needed Sasuke? Bile invaded her mouth.

Passing a shaking had over her eyes, Hinata exhaled shakily.

"I c-cannot help you. N-no one can. But I'll p-prepare your clothes for you. Go take a shower."

Letting an excited shriek escape her, Ino jumped to her feet, happy she got her wife's blessing to go about charming a precise man on a more permanent basis. The best of the two worlds. Running off towards the washroom, she left Hinata to rummage through her things, trusting her to find the most adequate ensemble.

Tears filling her eyes, Hinata felt like screaming. What did Sasuke need to appear out of nowhere and take away their peace?! Pulling out Ino's clothes from their cupboard in the entranceway, she chose to go all black. Black assorted lingerie, black, long-sleeved shirt with a provocative décolleté, short black skirt and black thigh-high stocking.

However, what Hinata did select with more care were the shoes. Between boots and flats, she chose a pair of stilettoes that she knew Ino detested. They had the bad habit of distorting her toes, tearing her skin off and making the fine bones in the feet ache at every step.

Appearing out of the washroom, Ino raised an eyebrow at Hinata's selection. It was elegant and sophisticated. But revealing and provocative. It was a mix between Hinata and Ino and seemed strangely adapted to the situation. Black was the color of temptation and seduction.

But … did she really have to pick them fucking Italian stilettoes?! That pair of _Prada_ was true torture. And yet, Hinata had picked them, knowing full well that Ino only wore them when she couldn't do otherwise and felt like the situation was desperate.

Looking up at her with a reproachful, teary glare, Hinata challenged her to criticize whatever she had chosen. And Ino's heart broke, at least a little bit. She did not like to look at Hinata's teary eyes. She would have wanted for her to understand that nothing would change; that Sasuke would be just another of her opportunistic fucks.

"Hina … I promise, nothing will change. You can trust me. I won't let anything get between the two of us. He's exactly like the rest of them, unimportant … I promise."

"Get d-dressed so I can do your hair and m-make-up."

With those catty movements that were her characteristic, keeping her clear, blue eyes glued to Hinata's, Ino let the towel covering her drop to the floor. Grasping for the stocking, she slowly slid them over the soft skin of her legs. Followed panties in that flimsy fabric that made one feel naked and the matching bra.

Once completely dressed, she let herself drop onto the mattress, since they didn't even fucking have chairs, and abandoned herself to Hinata's pulling, twirling and prickling.

Her hair was braided; the braid was half-destroyed and pulled apart before being organized into a wild, unruly bun at the back of her head. Tendrils of hair escaped around her face. The only thing Hinata added was some mascara and two perfectly thin and curved black lines at the base of Ino's long lashes.

The whole style spoke of sexy humility and sophistication, nothing that was particular to Yamanaka Ino. But that was what she had Hinata for, to transform her into more than she had ever been.

Slipping her feet into her _Prada_ stilettoes, she sighed in defeat. She would wear that pair of hazards on heels, if nothing at least to humor Hinata. She knew that the skirt was too short to cover the top of her stockings and the lacy motive on her pale skin had a way to crack even the toughest nut (_har har_, nut jokes) and allied with them fucking Italian stilettoes, she was ready for the kill.

Before she had the time to run around their little shoe box looking for her cellphone and wallet, Hinata produced what seemed to be a small, flesh-colored clutch. The only colorful part of the whole attire. As Ino grasped it, her eyes widened and her jaw dropped.

"_Bottega Veneta_" she read in a shaky voice.

Raising her eyes to Hinata's, she wanted to know where the fucking hell she had found that clutch. They were more expensive than a herd of milk cows. Not that Ino knew anything about milk cows.

However, the accusing expression etched on Hinata's face had a good way to shut her up.

"K-Kiba gave it t-to me."

Turning around and leaving all of Ino's clothes on the floor, her make-up scattered around and her shoes lying like corpses here and there, Hinata let herself drop like a dead mass onto the mattress and turned her back to Ino. She was obviously past depression and sulking.

However, she had not forgotten putting Ino's cellphone and money in the clutch. And ruining Ino's fucking perfect mood by mentioning that Kiba guy again.

Seriously, as soon as Ino came back from her little sting, she would have to throw a jealousy crisis, just to make a few things clear between her and _her_ wife (because Hinata still was _her_ wife). Ino disliked when other people played with her toys.

Skipping over her clothes and such, she simply walked towards the front door, not even taking the time to tell Hinata when she would be back. They haven't seen each other for weeks and instead of cuddling and canoodling, they were throwing shit at each other's face.

Ino hoped, stepping into the taxi that Hinata had called for her, that Sasuke would be more accommodating. However, she did not doubt an instant he would be _happy_ to see her. And for once, the dimly lightly streets, the pathetic flashing signs and the whores that were characteristic to L.A. seemed almost picturesque.

Tapping her foot and pressing her forehead against the window, pressure started building up in her stomach. Ino felt queasy and was worried that she would fucking puke all over herself! Here she was, sitting in a smelly cab driven by a guy that could have been a terrorist for all she knew, thinking about how to unzip her childhood friend's pants with her teeth. And she felt like vomiting her lungs out.

She had to get it over with _presto_. Uchiha Sasuke was like walking the red carpet to _Vogue_. And he would not refuse her. He had never refused her. She was the only one that knew everything about him. And would use it against him.

She permitted herself the rare smile when she gave psycho-driver his money and even told him to keep the change. Yamanaka Ino didn't let anyone keep the change. Ever.

Stepping out of the taxi, she pulled at her skirt and pushed her breasts up. The guy that had invented push-ups must have been sitting to Jesus' right.

Ino looked up at the commercial forty-storied skyscraper. She had followed her animal instinct, or better to say her pussy instinct. The odds Uchiha Sasuke was in his studio at nine p.m. were close to nil. At least, anyone that did not know him intimately would think so. But Sasuke was a night owl and she could bet, no she knew, that she would find him there.

Stepping through the flapping doors of the building, she was welcomed by security guard and receptionist that shot her a suspicious glance. She must have looked like something out of a _James Bond_ movie. A sexy Russian spy maybe, ready to transform the building into a heap ashes. Too bad someonehad beat her to it in New York. _Har har_, 9/11 jokes. What was it with Ino and her mental comedy show this evening?

It was nice to see an all stainless steel elevator that did not smell of piss and that did not have some idiotic background music. Twenty-second floor. Of course, the whole floor was deserted. People didn't work at nine p.m. But Sasuke did, trust Ino. If he was back, he was in his studio leafing through photographs he'd taken.

Come on, this was the guy who's dick she'd ridden in all possible positions and had down deep her throat more than once. They might have not seen each other for six years, but she'd had him under her skin, she knew him better than he knew herself.

Like the predator that she was, she walked down the hallway before stopping in front of a glass door that had with only adornment Sasuke Uchiha's name.

How fucking much did you want to bet that the door was not locked? Uchiha Sasuke never locked his door. He hadn't done so back when he was living alone in a huge Japanese compound; he wouldn't do so in the middle of the night with his studio.

Grabbing onto the knob, she pulled it down and what did you know? She was right. Her heart was picking up pace, thrumming against her left breast. She felt herself become dizzy. Trust tabloid trash more often, my love.

Stepping inside of the dark space, she noticed there was no such thing as a reception counter. In fact, one was walking right into the shooting space. There were changing rooms to the left and what must have been Sasuke's office behind closed door to the right.

Cluttered in lighting equipment, the place was nothing like what Ino had imagined Sasuke's working space. It was not organized enough, but then, the guy had been absent for three years. He hadn't returned for a long while. Leave some time for his obsessive compulsive disorder to take over.

For the first time of her life, Yamanaka Ino was scared of something. She was scared of rejection. She had always needed Uchiha Sasuke like a fish needed water. The shit they had had going on had kept her sane for a long period of her time. Whenever she need something, Sasuke appeared with it in his possession. He was like the fucking Shmoo. But she couldn't imagine him having an orgasm at the idea of being eaten. Then again, it was worth trying.

Opening the door to the right, she pushed it agape with the tip of her expensive Italian shoes. The office would have been completely dark had there not been a lamp on what seemed to be a big working desk.

Seated his back to her was most probably a man. Holding a picture up by a window, he let the lights of the lamp and city feebly clearing up the scene in the photograph.

"We are closed."

The voice sent a shiver to Ino's lower stomach. It had become so deep and steady. It had nothing of the awkwardness of youth. Licking her lips ever so slowly, she knew, she fucking knew, she had won.

"Closed? Never for me."

She noticed with satisfaction his shoulders stiffen. He didn't recognize the voice most probably; they had never spoken English when they had been together in high school. However, something in it did brought back memories.

Slowly, deliberately letting her heels clack on the floor of his office, Ino approached the desk. Passing by it, she came to place herself right beside the seated man. She leaned against the desk and bent over to take a good look at what it was that Sasuke was holding. She did not need to look at him just of yet, she wanted to delay the gratification.

"Impressive. You never showed me any of your pictures back in the days. But this is truly interesting. A contrast, right?"

Yamanaka Ino could speak like a real lady, or at least like a _femme fatale_, for short periods of time. Hinata's influence, most probably.

"One side of the model's face is completely lighted sending distorted shadows to the other side. The monster within the maiden. You were trying to draw a paradox. It is unfortunate though that the model did not compliment your genius. She has nothing contradictory about her. The type that wouldn't even know the definition of paradox."

Turning her eyes towards him, she analyzed his features. She had seen pictures of him in _W Magazine_ and the likes, but he had never appeared as attractive as in this dim room. The light of the lamp sent strange shadows to the left side of his face. The monster within the sinner, in his case.

"How does it feel, Sasuke, to be eternally dissatisfied? Are you not sick of working with all these soulless girls? Does it get you off to look at their blank eyes when you shoot them?"

Slowly, he turned his face towards her, his dark eyes taking in whom it was that had dared disturb him in the middle of the night. Had his pupil not dilated, Ino would have sworn he was not surprised. But she knew better.

The corner of her lips curved into a rapacious smile. He recognized her. He had never forgotten her, had he? Well, love, Ino would make sure that you remembered the mark she left on you.

Leaning into him, she kept her lips inches away from his. Her clear eyes bore into his dark ones, trying to read everything that they could reveal. But Sasuke's eyes had always been expressionless, a fact that had not been changed by time, she realized.

"You remember me, I am happy. So, tell me, Sasuke, are you not sick of all this mediocrity? You know they cannot satisfy you. No one can. Besides me. Are you not tired of getting fucked by them? Of being their little plaything? These girls fuck you to get a shooting. Their desires and hopes dominate you … And Orochimaru fucked you too, possessed you, made you do for him everything I did for you back then …"

At the mention of that name she was sure was a sensitive topic, she let her tongue point between her lips and passed it over his own. Slowly, deliberately. She dropped her hand to his lap; let it rest there for an instant to let his thigh absorb her weight. Ever so slightly, she moved it to the inside and gradually slid it over the fabric of his expensive designer pants.

Before she had reached her goal (which obviously was his groin), his hand grabbed her and in no time he was standing bowing over her, his eyes sending lightning. In moments of rage, Ino could swear that Sasuke's eyes took the color of blood.

The way his hand clawed at her wrist hurt her terribly. He could snap the delicate bones with two fingers, she knew. Yet, she would not give him the pleasure of whimpering; she never had.

Raising her head to meet his gaze, still leaning against his desk, the voracious smile etched on her lips stretched wider, more provocative and challenging. And before she could take a breath, she was being dragged up and turned around.

As her upper body was slammed onto the desk, a surprised moan escaped her. This was actually just a replay of what every one of her fucks was like. The same rough, business-like hands pushing her skirt around her hips. There was no care, no excitement, no desire really beside that betrayed by the pulsating erection grinded against her buttock. It was comforting to know that Sasuke wasn't any different from all the other grinds she had had.

As his hand found the flesh of her rear, she felt her panties being ripped from her flesh (and here went a pair of innocent panties whose only crime had been sexual goading) and the cold air hit her moist flesh. She had no time to adjust before he slammed into her.

The pain of that violent encounter between their bodies reminded her of something she had tried to escape. Bringing her wrist to her mouth, she bit down as hard as she could, hoping that no sound escaped her. When she had been small and her stepfather had come to her, she would have always wrestled with her pain and done anything she could not to make a noise.

Retrieving, Sasuke slammed into her again. And then she realized the amusing side of the situation. Sasuke was indeed sick of getting fucked and the means he had found to remedy to the situation was to fuck someone else. You couldn't get more ironic than that, according to Ino.

The gloating smile she had spotted previously reappeared as the pain of Sasuke's ministrations receded. She would like this new feral and shameful side of Sasuke's. All the ugly things he must have done to get where he was. In fact, he and Ino were the same.

As her hunger for sex returned, Sasuke picked up his pace. Noticing how her shoulders slumped and her body relaxed, he stretched his hand and grabbed violently onto the bun of pale hair at the back of Ino's. Bringing her up, he made her spine arch and got a good view of her décolleté over her shoulder.

Turning her face to the side with the force of his grip, he analyzed her expression. Eyelids heavy, lips moist and blood-engorged, she was smiling in the same way he had always seen her doing.

If there was one person Uchiha Sasuke had always hated, it had been Yamanaka Ino. The way she had to provoke him and make all the worst in him come out was driving him crazy.

She made his control snap and played mediator between him and his inner psycho. Not a side of him he had ever wanted to get acquainted to. And here he was, being manipulated by her again, six years later. He knew he was getting fucked again. She was topping from the bottom; that was her fucking speciality.

His movements became erratic yet she picked up his pace and started slamming back into him desperately. A moan reverberated through the office. It had nothing childish as what he remembered. That was a woman's moan, deep and demanding.

As her eyes fluttered opened, he realized how much he had truly missed that color. He had seen many blue eyes, in many countries, but none had been as electric and clear as those he had loved. The hair under his fingers brought back memories of pain and longing. The same color, pale, the color of the sun.

Meeting his dark, all-consuming stare, it was not her own reflection that she saw. With pleasure, with triumph, she realized she still reminded him of that someone else. That dirty secret of his. This was perfect. The knowledge that she still had that effect on him got off her more than any orgasm he could give her.

But, as he shook above her, giving in to an orgasm himself, she let the tide take over her and was reminded how earth-shattering and life-affirming sex with Uchiha Sasuke could be.

He removed himself the same way he had penetrated her, without a warning, letting the cold air whip her irritated lower parts. As he busied himself around his pants, Ino lifted herself from the desk and straightened her skirt.

Grabbing the remains of her panties that lied on the table, she waved them like a flag.

"You destroyed my panties and ruined a perfectly good pair of stockings"

Rotating on her hips, she pointed at the wet trail that stained the top of her thigh-high sheer stockings. Not that Sasuke cared, she knew.

Walking around the desk, she did not turn around to look at him again. Her stilettoes clunked against the floor at every one of the steps that drew her farther from her grind of the day. Her hips swayed as those of a woman well serviced.

Before she completely exited through the door, she halted just long enough to tell him in her husky voice:

"Call for me. You know only I can give you what you need. I am at _Red Dawn_, ask for my agent. Itachi Uchiha."

With that last piece of information, she removed herself from his presence, a triumphant smile grazing her lips.

Yamanaka Ino always got what she wanted. _Always_.


	3. And the Shit hit the Fan

**A/N: Hello, ladies and gentlemen (mostly ladies, I know :3)! **

**First things first, I have to send out a huge thank you to my followers and those that favorited. I am surprised to see that I have as many favorites as my other fic that is 2 chapters longer. This is huge for me. All these love for my characters makes me want to shed a tear.**

**Now, let me throw cookies at all the people that wrote me PMs and my reviewers: LoveHinata29, SabakunoAnjel, xxLuna, CoocooKachoo, Dotchi13 and 97. You guys did not just write reviews, you wrote ideas. I was amazed at the quality of your thoughts, at the way you experienced the psychology of the characters. You put my own fic in perspective for was a weird weird feeling. And I loved it. Keep the reviews coming, they really inspire me. **

**xxLuna, I must tell you I used your musical theater teacher's idea about dolls. I found it very profound and I like how it explained to a certain extent relativism. This idea that the perspective is what gives meaning to the form. Very beautiful.**

**And finally, I have to do some marketing here, guys. My dearest ****SabakunoAnjel**** has started two new fics:**

**1 – Mirrored Illusions**

**2 – In the Eyes of a Shadow**

**I think that Mirrored Illusions is a very subtle and amazingly well-written critique of the desires we have to change our life partners. It is a SasuHina that touches many subjects, in a very Naruto way, that evolve around relationships, responsibilities and the way our most intimate desires clash with them. **

**It is a very interesting fic for people that have a good understand of psychology and a capacity to look past the obvious. Of course, I believe my reviewers have already proven their intellectual capacity with their reviews (you guys are writing this fic, you do realize that?!) and I want to challenge them to go read and review. **

**Same goes with In the Eyes of a Shadow, which are different drabbles, some cute, some serious, that I call my survivor guide to social interactions.**

**So let us make a deal, ****you are not obliged to review this chapter**** if you don't feel like it, however go and ****take a peek at SabakunoAnjel's work****. The more reviews she gets, the faster she updates and the faster I get my surge in dopamine that makes me write write write. And update.**

**And finally final finality, this is a mostly descriptive chapter of 27 000 + words. I had to cut somewhere, we were going towards a 40 000 words chapter here, I am leaving a lot for the next chapter. This chapter is Hinata-centric. Next chapter will be HinaGaa-centric. And then, chapter five will be mostly InoSasu-centric.**

**Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto. **

…

**The Glam Show**

_Chapter 3_

And the Shit hit the Fan

_By _

_Voyna_

Skin on skin. It amazed him how her skin had lost the warmth he remembered. It was as if a snake was slithering across his chest and he did not like it. It reminded him of that shitty part of his life he had escaped just of late.

Even odder was the feel of powder being spread across his right pectoral. The ones he had fucked had never been so intimate as to use their dope in front of him, let alone on him. But Yamanaka Ino had always been a peculiar one, to say the least.

Lifting her head to meet his stare, she let that lazy, sexy smile that she had retained from the good old times stretch her lips. Her eyelids had become heavier though and gave her glance that sleepy quality that was characteristic to all junkies but considered sexy in the Industry.

He would have preferred her eyes to be rounder, wider and the scowl he shot her was meant to inform her about that, but she obviously did not care. She knew he needed her. The same way she needed that snow she was gathering in a straight line on his breast.

Breaking contact, she lowered her head again and he felt the movements of her nostrils on his flesh as she inhaled the powder. As the last grains of coke disappeared from his skin, he felt her hand, cold, stiff, caress the muscles of his lower stomach. A thing that amazed him was how Yamanaka Ino could always be so hungry and ready to fuck. There was something manic about the way she had to do it.

Were Sasuke an elegant man he would have called her epicurean, to say the least. However, since the Industry did not leave you time to look for words; it was _nympho_ that instantly sprang to his mind. The way she scratched his six-pack, licked her lips and raised herself to sit on his hips informed him that she wanted more.

And sometimes, she made him, Uchiha Sasuke, who had fucked all the models that mattered … at least twice; wonder whether he was enough to satiate one definitely famished Yamanaka Ino. The chick had a way to make him doubt his abilities.

And yet, even if he would have wanted to get away from her and just walk out of the damn hotel room, he felt himself harden … for the third fucking time of the night. He wondered whether the bitch had short-circuited his brain and attuned it to her desires or something. His dick had been rode raw and yet here it was demanding a repeat.

"I bet I know whom you're thinking about."

She arched her back, stretching, and made her hand leave his skin to ruffle up her long, golden locks. His body reacted immediately deepening the skin to skin contact by bucking his hips into her. He hated it when his own body played the traitor.

As she chuckled, he felt like pushing her off and kicking her right to the stomach. He had hoped that leaving Japan a good seven years ago would have liberated him from her and the way she had to fuck him up beyond repair. But no, she had had to reappear and take over his fucking life as she used to when they had been fourteen-year old shitters.

But of course, trust his dick to take her back and keep demanding her services. Way of making Sasuke feel like a cheap whore. And you could imagine Ino was not going to do anything for free. There was no such thing as pleasure-fucking in her vocabulary. She wanted something precise from him and he hated to admit: even if she had not asked, he would have offered.

She had reappeared exactly at the moment he had thought his career had been finished. Since Temari Sabaku-No whom he had snatched right in front of her asshole of a brother's nose, he had not met up with girls that could match his standard. And even Temari Sabaku-No compared to Ino was like comparing water to benzene. Temari was the default setting. Ino was an explosion.

And the way she was playing him, threatening to reveal his dirty little secret, he was worried he would end up smothered when she eventually decided truly to explode. The chick was a hazard on stilettoes. She was out of control like none he had ever seen.

But he didn't care, as long as he drove Gaara Sabaku-No right into the ground. Fucking up Temari had been a good move, now he needed to capitalize on Gaara's incapacity to work with the standard chicks and throw his own nymph on the front pages.

Ino would make him big. The Sabaku era was over.

"Hey. Don't think about work when I am about to fuck you, it is an ass-burner."

Before he could move, his arms were pressed above his head by fine, delicate and manicured hands.

"Relax. Let me be in control. I owe you for having fucked my pussy raw. It still hurts."

He did not like it when Ino owed him anything. Pushing against her hands for the form, he knew he could overthrow her any time, but the way her clear eyes bore into his made him lose all of his will.

She leaned into his wrists, holding him in place. Pressing her lips to his chastely, she let her tongue dart out and move across his lower lip in a demand.

'_Open for me._'

As he parted his lips, her tongue penetrated his mouth in a rush. Thus started the struggle between their two tongues. At times, when she felt she was losing control over him she let her teeth clunk against his or without any softness bit his tongue.

She was training him as if he were some fucking mutt. He would repay her for that. As her tongue slid in and out, he wondered how long he would be able to hold up until he just ignored her desires and raped her right then, right there. With time, he had gotten to ignore the word _no_ in a woman's mouth.

With each ones of her licks, she got farther inside of his brain, making him forget all of his plans and needs. He became her thing. She marked him as if he were nothing but a toy she did not want to share with other children.

Leaving his mouth, she slid down his body. Licking his neck. Biting his shoulder. Raking her fingernails down his pectorals and stomach. As her teeth sunk into the bones of his hip, an expletive escaped him and he arched his back like some fucking chick. Fuck him and his lack of self-control when it came to sex.

He could almost feel her smirk against his skin. She knew she had him where and how she wanted him. The moment she took him into her mouth, he felt a spasm shake his whole body.

She retrieved immediately, letting him settle before picking up her infernal pace. The combination of her mouth around him and her hands sliding up and down the base was a sensation he could barely withstand. She brought him to the edge over and over again. It was Yamanaka Ino's favorite form of torture. But he would not beg.

His pride amused her. Straddling his hips, she shot him a triumphant glance, a smirk of self-satisfaction grazing her lips. He might not beg with words but the way his whole body was shaking for her to take him was all that she needed. Hovering above him, she left him a few seconds to look between them before she forced him to penetrate her.

She might have been sore, but wouldn't by-pass a possibility to ride him one last time. His whole body felt the sensation of her. Tight, warm and wet. Who would have thought that a whore such as Yamanaka Ino could remain tight when needed? The thought crossed Sasuke's mind and had he had any sense of humor, he would have laughed.

Her slow, pumping rhythm was what did it. He hadn't lasted long, to his shame. When he came, Ino felt like she had been ripped in two. Pain had a way of making her get off herself and she followed suite.

Neither of them was the cuddly type and as soon as they were done with each other, she made a movement to get off of him. Her lithe form in the darkness of their room appeared like some type of ethereal mass. She turned her head to look at him sitting up in the bed.

How fine her features were. Like those of an elf. She was photogenic, she was wild and she was going to make it big. On Sasuke's back. The bitch was driving him crazy and transforming him into someone he did not know.

Walking naked towards the washroom of his suite, she disappeared behind the door and turned the shower on. The noise of droplets of water hitting the ceramic of the shower floor accompanied his thoughts.

Sasuke loved these moments of peace that were becoming rarer. He fucking loved being alone even if the whole world could not understand it. The fact this bitch had come along and put him in contact with all the shitty things in his life was just making him hate her more. Remembering his high school, Japan, their trysts, having to talk to that fucker Itachi on a regular basis because he was her agent.

All of this was getting the best of him. In other words, she came with a shitload of add-ons he would have preferred not to pay for.

But here they were in Belize, on location for a resort-wear spread that would appear in _Vogue_. Ino's first _Vogue_ spread. There was something to be said about a girl that a year ago was virtually unknown in the Industry, that landed a photo-shoot with Gaara Sabaku-No and that was glued to Sasuke's ass wherever he went.

As she stepped out of the washroom, naked, wet and tempting, he didn't feel anything. His dick had gotten his part of the action and now he was satiated enough to realize that Yamanaka Ino did not inspire him any type of emotion. She could have gotten hit by a car and he would have lamented the loss of a model, not the loss of a childhood friend, lover, whatever.

Standing up just as naked, he looked as her eyes brushed over him and realized that she most probably thought the same thing about him. There was nothing between them.

Her eyes were void, waiting for anyone's reflection to fill them, any other guy would do. Maybe was it because she was married, or whatever (married chicks had that way of becoming soulless according to him). Honestly, Sasuke couldn't care less. As long as she fulfilled her part of their tacit agreement, he was fine with her dead-fish eyes.

He paid, she modelled, they fucked.

He walked passed her, letting the smell of their sex linger by her side. She fucking hated the smell of the guys she did to remain on her for longer than needed. And Sasuke was not an exception to the rule.

As he locked himself in the washroom, Ino looked around, taking in the sight of Sasuke's expensive suite. Only the best for the Uchiha guys, right? And she was the best, she knew.

She wasn't afraid of the spread, of _Vogue_'s editors or whomever else. She was not afraid of some Uchiha Sasuke that she could have whenever she wanted, where she wanted.

The only thing she was scared of was to not be enough. For herself. Glancing at the phone by the nightstand, she wondered whether calling Hinata in the middle of her workday would be a good idea.

The bitch had better things to do than listen to Ino bitch'n'moan about her dumb life. What would she even tell her, for fuck's sake.

'_Hey Hina, I am going crazy here. Have you ever felt like you were living outside of your body? Like fucking yogi transcendence. Look at me floating above the earth, har har har._'

Okay, fuck this shit. Ino should try and relax before vomiting all over the shoot crew. She'd better go and dress up. That pair of panties on the floor was everything but fresh and she needed to feel clean for at least once in her lifetime.

But she would leave them behind for Sasuke to have a reminder of what it was that she was giving him

Still clad in nothing but a towel, she stepped out of the suite, not looking back as usual. That was the motto of her life: _no looking back, no regrets, only aim for the top_. She didn't fucking care whether she would shock the little people of Belize, running around mostly naked.

Stepping inside of an elevator, still clutching her towel, she let the people that were going down with her have a good look. 'Cause Yamanaka Ino was hot, if you hadn't noticed by now.

"S'cuse me, do you want a fucking piece of me?! No?! Then how about staring at the wall and doing something about your little brain getting all excited on me?!"

She obscenely pointed at a middle-aged man's trousers and attracted all the attention to it. She fucking loved attention, but sometimes too much was like too little. She didn't need a whole elevator to stare at her and make her feel like the devil.

The situation made her, for whatever reason, think of _Alice Cooper_,_ Ozzy Osbourn_ or _Marilyn Manson_. She knew exactly what they were going through with all the censure. She felt like biting off a bat's head all of a sudden.

Can you please think of the children?! Well, Ino was happy to announce that after all the abortions she'd gotten, she was quite sure never to become a fucking human incubator for anyone.

As she elbowed people aside, she walked out of the elevator and looked at the range of doors that stretched in front of her. Well, Jesus, you could land a _Vogue_ shooting, it didn't mean you would get treated as the _Queen of England_ just because of it.

She had obviously forgotten her keys (since the freaking hotel didn't even have magnetic cards), but she had left the door unlocked anyways. She didn't give a fuck if someone had entered her room and ravaged it. They wouldn't have found much. Not a penny. Since it was Sasuke that was paying for everything. Whatever she wanted she put on his note.

And she was cheap too. She barely fucking ate anything since they arrived in Belize. She only needed her dose and she got it easily. The other girls had already organized their network before coming. Another thing she added on Sasuke's note.

Hand on the knob, she opened the door to her crummy room and stepped inside, scanning her surroundings to see whether someone had robbed her. Well guess what, no one had. Her passport was anyways in Sasuke's suite. She wouldn't have minded buying herself some new shit with his credit card though.

Dropping the towel to the floor, she went on all four. What she did best if you asked her. And disappeared under the bed to retrieve her suitcase. Well geez, even if thieves had wanted to steal something, they wouldn't have much.

Remind Ino never to ask Hinata to prepare her clothes for her again. Honestly, the chick was clueless when it came to fashion stints. Who was it that wanted to become a fucking fashion photographer again?!

Grabbing a gray long-sleeved shirt (that most probably had found itself mixed with her clothes because her wife was scared she would get a cold in fucking Belize), she passed it over her head not caring that her twins would swing from one side to the other during the whole day.

She had wanted fresh panties. And now she didn't want any anymore. No one would notice that she hadn't any under a teeny tiny, tight, ass-pressing pair of white shorts. Or maybe they would. Ino couldn't give a shit.

Rolling on the ground trying to pull those damn shorts on, she thanked the Lord there was no one in the room 'cause she honestly looked like one of those dogs that rubbed their lower parts on the carpet because of an itch.

She would have tried that against pubic lice had she not discovered the art of Brazilian waxing. The joys of being married to a chick and not needing to go to the beauty parlor. All the ways to save money.

As soon as she had entered her room, she was already leaving it, not bothering much to find those keys.

Something to be said about the bunch of chicks that waited for her in the parlor of the hotel was that they were snotty bitches. At best. The look they shot her as she ran towards them, her hair a mess, no make-up and her breasts bouncing up and down was priceless. They looked like squirrels that'd had lemons shoved down their throats.

But Ino knew better than to snob them. Rule number one in the Industry, you better make friends. With every-_fucking_-one. You didn't need the photography assistants to make you look pale or fat. The assholes could do it. And you did not need for any of the girls you were working with to make you trip face first during a shooting.

So since sucking up, down and all around was Ino's speciality, she just flashed them her softest smile.

"Hey there. My name is Ino Yamanaka, from _Red Dawn_. I am so happy to be working with all of you, real excited."

Some of them returned her smile, others ignored her blatantly. But none shot her the evil eye. Well bitches, Ino would show you that she was no beginner and that she knew what she was doing. She had made Hinata explain her every detail about Sasuke's pictures, she knew him by heart by now.

Speaking of the big bad wolf, Uchiha did appear and they were all set to get on location and shoot those damn pictures. Of course before they could start, all the girls had to be mowed down by the beauty machine.

Make-up artists, hair stylists, fashion assistants. Ino fucking loved feeling them buzzing around her, asking her strange, out-of-place questions. She loved the way they would smile right back at her as she subtly (Ino was as subtle as a bull in a china shop) flattered them in a way or another.

'_Oh my God, I love what you did with my hair! I am completely changed. I never looked so great._'

'_You know, you are a real artist. I feel like the place for all the girls you've made-up is not on a photo-shoot but at the Metropolitan._'

'_Thank you so much for your help with the bathing suit. I wouldn't have been able to guess how to put it on. You're the best._'

It was quite funny to look at Ino transforming from a sullen bitch to the sweetest being on earth. She would have been an excellent actress; however she doubted that Hinata would appreciate in what way Ino was inspired by her.

Once they were done transforming her into an overly-tanned (there was something to be said about spray-tanning blond chicks), lion-maned mermaid (without the fishy tail or sexual gonads, mind you), she joined all the other girls once again. Waiting to be called forth by the ever-so-hot Sasuke Uchiha.

Gosh, models were annoying. They all had already fucked him, why still gush? He turned around and scanned them. Honestly, to him they were just pieces of meat meant to be roasted on the BBQ of the Industry.

He had always been one, and it must have had something to do with a branch of his family having been into that type of shit, to inspire himself from _Kabuki_. The puffed hair, the extravagant make-up, all of it made him think of the outrageous Japanese theatre actors.

However none of the girls would know how to give him what he wanted and he didn't need _Grace Coddington_, _Vogue_'s art editor, on his ass again. The old bitch was a real pain and never satisfied with what he was bringing her. Well fuck her, they still published his photos and got mail about them.

As a junior editor leaned to whisper something to his ear, he snapped his fingers at the girls and they all advanced towards him, pushing each other aside with their elbows. The Industry was a catty business, but that wasn't his problem.

He picked the two he knew would be the least productive and just made them take a pose with the sea behind them, standing on white rocks that had appeared out of nowhere. Belize had sand beaches, who fucking cared. When Sasuke said he wanted white rocks, they would get imported from Greece even if it meant robbing the _Parthenon_.

And at once, his snappy self returned with a vengeance. Had anyone told Ino that Sasuke had gotten verbally abusive since the last time she'd seen him, she wouldn't have believed it. For the simple reason that Sasuke did not fucking speak! He barely ever opened that chiseled mouth of his unless it was to click his tongue in disgust.

Well, hello there, bad boy! This would be great. And Ino couldn't wait to see whether he would go all Gaara on them.

As one of the two models arched her back and advanced a foot as if she were going to walk forth and as the other bent over, Sasuke almost exploded right there, right then and Ino had to muster all her self-control not to start laughing at seeing him redden in anger.

"What the fuck is that?! I don't need two pissy teenagers in my shooting. I don't get paid to feed the sick fantasies of pedophiles. Make it edgy."

And obviously, the poor darlings didn't know much about edgy. Sure, they had looked at what he had previously done, followed his career. But they weren't Japanese; they had no idea what type of edgy he wanted.

As his assistant Kabuto walked towards the girls and tried to place them, Ino could see the tears that threatened to spill. Well yeah, bitches, it fucking hurts not being rigid enough.

"I just got a guy to break your arm, why the fuck are you looking at me as if I were the Christ on the cross?! Hate me. Okay fuck it, this is going nowhere. Take them away."

And those girls were out after barely a hundred shots.

"Get your ass over here, Yamanaka."

She would have preferred Sasuke to have been the one to refer to her ass, but Kabuto had beaten him to it, it seemed.

Sending Kabuto her sweetest smile and doing her best not to disturb that mass of shit on the top of her head (she felt like a chemical factory had been spread all over her), Ino advanced towards all that horde of people that waited for her.

Uno, it was so hot outside she felt like she would melt into a heap of crap … and chemicals. Secundo, all that lighting shit around was making the heat go up, up, up and she was sure her DNA was being roasted. Good thing she couldn't have kids no more, they would have ended up as mutants. And tertio, Kabuto smelled like fucking _Paco Rabanne_ and she hated that smell.

'How about not groping my boobs, you creep.'

Not giving Sasuke any time to bitch out his orders, she took a pose she remembered having seen in some _Kabuki_ magazine ('cause those trannies had magazines).

She spread her legs giving everyone a nice view of the hollows at the apex of her thighs. Well, she obviously did not eat much, thanks. Rising her hands to her face, she spread her fingers and turned the palms towards the camera.

He wanted edgy? She'd give him _katana_ trenchant.

"On the ground."

Someone had his panties in a twist. Relax, Uchiha, no need to growl like some moose in rut. But Ino felt obedient.

She had screwed over that photo-shoot with Gaara. The critiques had been a catastrophe. Sure, it had been mostly the Sabaku-No and the Inuzuka that had been run into the ground, but she had had read a good two-three sentences about herself on some Fashion blogger's shitty page.

Where was _Stalin_ when you needed some restriction to the _First Amendment_? Was it the _First Amendment_ that spoke about liberty of speech? She didn't fucking know, she didn't fucking care.

The point was, she needed to make it work with Sasuke, since she obviously couldn't even get her mouth around Gaara's dick to retry him.

She all but threw herself to the ground and once again, ignored Sasuke completely, and did what she damn well knew he wanted. She lied on the back doing as if she wasn't being pricked by all those damn rocks they've put everywhere and grabbed onto her ankles. Arching her back, she gave them the best angle to take a shot of the sea right between her grasped ankles and her back.

The way he shot her a glare, she knew she had him where she wanted him. Only she knew all about him, could work with him and give him everything he wanted.

She had made him. She was the one that had been his first. And you never forget your first. She'd taught him about duality, lust, pain, amorality, edginess. She'd made him an addict.

And he fucking hated it. He knew she would understand what he wanted. She was Japanese for fuck's sake, she had that cold, marble way of spreading her legs wide and fucking the whole world through them without even batting an eyelash. She was both sexual and asexual and he wanted that. And not only during a fucking photo-shoot.

"Lose the top."

Standing up again (could he decide what the fuck he wanted? Up or down?!), she all but tore off the expensive _Missoni_ top that held her twins in place under the aghast stares of fashion assistants. They all rushed towards her to recuperate the top and to pass a multitude of golden chains, heavy and thick, around her neck.

Obviously, all that commotion brought on the hair stylists and the make-up artists. Most of the crap they'd put on had melted by that time and Ino needed some major retouches. The joy of being surrounded by gays, no one even looked at her twins. What an insult. She'd thoroughly proven she'd be able to transform any fag into a pussy-licker.

Once they were done, she let Sasuke zoom into her upper body and snap a few shots before she brought her ring-covered fingers to her neck. Turning them around, she pushed her palms against the side of her throat and let her fingers bend over at the crook of her neck. As the flash hid the golden rings and necklaces, she knew that one photograph would be great.

Ino with her lion-mane, head slightly tilted back, lips parted, scintillating with all the fire of gold in a paradisiac setting.

And for a split of an instant she felt bad. No, she felt fucking miserable. That picture Sasuke had taken was nothing but a fucking copy. Hinata had taken the real thing when they had been nineteen and Ino had posed for her. It was Hinata's fucking jewel, her baby, her best shot.

But the Industry was not nice, Ino had given Sasuke what had been Hinata's. It was cruel to say so, but had Hinata been a _real_ photographer, Ino wouldn't have had to do it. She wouldn't have had to because it wouldn't have been Sasuke taking shots of her at this resort, it would have been Hinata. It was after all her own fault. Ino needed to survive. Whatever it took.

But she would understand. Hinata always understood.

**x.x.x**

"I am not going to eat fucking beans, Hina! They make me fart like shit and I am not planning on making the whole plane suffocate tomorrow because of your cooking."

Rolling her eyes at Kiba, Hinata shook her forefinger right into his face.

"Y-you are damn well going to eat those beans. T-they are plenty of good for y-you."

Had they not been fucking talking about fart beans, Kiba would have laughed at shy Mrs. Yamanaka pointing her finger at him like that. And had he not been a perfect gentleman (ok, ok, when he was in the shower, he still imagined them going through all the positions of the _Kama Sutra_, but only when he was in the shower), he would have sucked onto that fine, long finger. He refrained and pushed it aside.

"No. Fucking no."

"Yes. Absolutely yes."

"What are you kids bickering about again?"

Both of them simultaneously turned their heads to see Kurenai leaning over the counter and making the mouse of her _Mac_ bounce in her hand. She had such weird ticks. And she used a mouse for her labtop for whatever reason. Kiba didn't like mice. They attracted cats.

"Can you fucking stop appearing like a ghost?! Since I know you, you just pop out of nowhere as if you were a damn vampire."

Raising a brow at him as was her habit; she simply gave him a devilish smile that could mean everything and anything. And that got him to blanch immediately. Had he had any hair on his arms, it would have stood on alert (but of course, working for the Industry, he had a personal aesthetician that got rid of all the surplus of fur).

A thing to be mentioned about Kiba was that coming from Hungary, a country surrounded by Serbia and Romania, the lands of werewolves and vampires, he was slightly superstitious.

The two women started laughing at his expression while he shot them a dirty glare and crossed himself just in case. Another thing worth mentioning was that he spent his Sundays in a Lutheran church. Back in the days, a few three years ago, he was confessing all the grinds he had had. Nowadays it was more unlawful fantasies about a certain married woman that stained his soul.

The thought of it made his dick shrivel. Again.

"Are we getting out of here, kids? I need to go pick up Asuma from kindergarten. Hina, you still babysitting him tomorrow evening, right?"

"Sure t-thing. I am l-looking forward to spending the evening with my little fiancé."

A growl involuntarily escaped Kiba, as he and Hinata were being shoved out of the studio.

"Well, it seems your big fiancé isn't all that happy about it."

Hinata fidgeted and blushed. Kiba shot a warning glare. Kurenai laughed. They were happy like that. And yet, Hinata couldn't be called content.

She spent most of her time at Kiba's and that should have made her satisfied. She loved having the impression of living in a family and it was understood that she had become their third roommate.

She did all the cooking and cleaning (because honestly those two would have died of the plague eventually, had she not appeared as a gift of God), the guys paid for the rent and the food.

The last time she'd been in her own apartment went back to at least six weeks ago. There must have been a dust colony that had settled on top of the bed and started planning a revolution.

Imagining a dust colony with _AK-47_s made her brow twitch ever so slightly.

And as ungrateful and spoiled as she might have sounded, she missed Ino. She was surrounded by the best people in the world. Kiba that came to pick her up at work when he was around, Kurenai that informed her about the latest trends in fashion photography, Shino that ate her food without bitching and little Asuma that drew ugly shit for her.

What more did she want? She wanted her wife at home, or at least not running around the world with a certain Uchiha Sasuke that was flaunting her around like a piece of meat whenever he could.

Ino was everywhere, from _LaPerla_'s website to _W Magazine_'s spreads. Hinata could look at her every day, she was a click away. But Hinata couldn't simply lie beside her and count her breaths while she slept.

The sigh that escaped her was enough for Kiba to know what the hell Hinata was so seriously pondering upon. Ino again. Well fuck him, Ino was on the other side of the world and showed her face like every six months for all he knew.

He couldn't imagine that there was someone as heartless in the world as that dumb bimbo. Throwing away a jewel like Hinata felt sinful and ever so wrong.

Snaking an arm around Hinata's frail shoulders, he hugged her to his side in the middle of the street, making her temperature soar.

"Stop thinking about how ya gonna poison me with your beans."

That made her sigh again (in exasperation this time) and look up at him with the sternest expression she could manage.

She liked it how Kiba and her were able to interact normally. She would have never imagined that after Neji she would have been able to let a man touch her the way Kiba did. He was the brother she had wanted Neji to be.

Letting her head lean onto his upper arm, she let the weariness wash over her.

If there had been a way he could have taken away all her sadness, he would have done it. Even if it had meant fucking driving over Ino Yamanaka with Kurenai's _BMW_.

Bending down to her, he simply kissed her nose. They had made some progress when it came to physical contact. Even if he knew that she placed him on equal standing with Akamaru when it came to affection, he couldn't stop his heart from beating faster when they had skin on skin contact.

Yes, his fucking heart beat faster and his knees started to shake, do you have a fucking problem with that? Because he could take care of it … with his fists.

Damning him to hell and promising himself he would just shove his balls into a mixer and press the _on_ button as soon as they reached home (since obviously, they had become obsolete since he had met Hinata), he flashed her his most convincing smile and said, as the idiot that he was:

"Don't worry about wifey-dearest. Looking at her these days, I can bet she is doing just fine and enjoying herself like hell."

He was a pussy, a nancy, a ball-less wonder. Fuck you, Kiba Inuzuka.

Here he was, holding Hinata by his side. She was so close and defenseless he could bend down and French kiss her rabidly in front of a street full of people. But no, he fucking had to speak about her dumb _Barbie_-doll of a wife.

As they arrived at his apartment block, the type of ritzy twenty-storied building with security guard, cameras, magnetic cards, speakerphones and ten different types of security system, they rushed through the rotating doors, flashing the doorman a smile.

Hinata had never truly gotten accustomed to the Californian kitsch with the palm trees and all that shit. She was snobbish even after all these years.

As Kiba was about to unlock the door to his apartment, on the other side a whimper and some clawing was to be heard. Something was pawing at the door.

"Akamaru, sit!"

If there was one dog Kiba could have never trained and transformed into an example of perfect obedience, it would have been his very own. As the door was swung open, an enormous mass of fur appeared out of nowhere and aimed for Hinata.

Akamaru's paws on her shoulder, she desperately tried to turn her head away and escape that flexible, long tongue that was licking her face clean.

Good thing she wasn't wearing any make-up. She wouldn't have wanted Akamaru's death on her conscience.

Hey, I poisoned my best friend's dog with _Lancôme_ mascara!

One thing to remember when you visit Kiba, always keep your mouth shut because a foreign tongue could get passed your lips _presto_. Shooting a dirty glare at Akamaru who was realizing all his phantasms on a daily basis, Kiba grabbed the dog by the collar and pulled him inside the apartment.

"I am hungry."

"Good afternoon, S-Shino."

Sitting in the middle of the living room was Shino. With his sunglasses and the hoodie he was wearing every day of his life, whether it be five or forty-five degrees outside. And all around him, books, papers, pens, charts and what not.

Careful not to step on a biology book, Hinata bounced around like a five-year old. The only thing she needed were fucking pigtails and Kiba would have been ready to apply for the _Pedobear approved_ seal in her name. In his case, pedodog would have been more appropriate though.

Would she mind not shaking her … endowed upper-body like that?! Certain things about Hinata made his dick shrivel big time. But her breasts jumping up and down while he _knew_ she wore a bra were not one of them.

"Where's my main man?!"

"He's hungry."

"I wasn't speaking of ya, bug-man. I was speaking of my best buddy here."

Turning his head back to his books, leafing through what seemed to be a brick, not a textbook; Shino clicked his tongue in disgust.

"I tire of your enthusiasm. I should've taken care of him while I still had the chance to."

"You see now why I need you to stay here when I am away?! Leaving Aka with this fucking freak of nature is sentencing him to death by dissection."

"Kiba, let Shino s-study! Food is c-coming right up, S-Shino. Had a good day at uni?"

No response. But a lot of noise coming from Kiba and Akamaru wrestling on the ground and sending sheets of paper all over the place.

"Hey, b-boys! I'll be the one c-cleaning that mess up. I'd l-like to see you trying to classify all of Shino's p-papers by subject and d-date, Kiba."

Fiddling with an apron, Hinata softly kicked Kiba's shoulder with her naked foot. Before she could move it away, Kiba had grasped it with one of his enormous hands and that is when it happened.

As Kiba turned around with Akamaru laying his enormous body directly on his back, flashing a carnivorous smile up at Hinata, she saw the flick of light that passed through his eyes. Her own widened at once. And she stopped breathing.

'Don't. Don't think about it. He is nothing like _him_.'

It had started that way, with _him_. With Neji. It was the same expression in Kiba's eyes that she had had to bear during the five years she had lived with her cousin. An expression of possessiveness. As if she was his thing.

And that smile. It wasn't Neji's smile, Neji never smiled, but something in it made Hinata's heart beat faster. And not in a good way.

Before she could beat some sense into herself, she frantically started shaking her leg, trying to get it out of Kiba's hand. He let go of it immediately and frowned.

It was not the first time he had seen Hinata have a panic attack at being touched. At the beginning of their acquaintance it had been happening quite often.

But it was the first time for at least a whole year. And it was a fucking ass-burner. He felt like someone had just shoved a dick down his throat.

Even worse, when she cowered away from him, he felt dirty, as if he were some fucking rapist. A child abuser. All off a sudden, the _Pedobear approved _seal didn't appear in so funny a light.

As soon as she was liberated, she disappeared in the kitchen and he was left to lie on the floor with Akamaru whimpering on his back.

"You are clueless."

"Shut up, bug-man."

Standing up and pushing Akamaru off, he decided it was time for him to go visit his mom. You knew shit was going down when Kiba visited his psycho of a mother. Especially before heading on location (Tsume had that way of screwing him up to the point he wasn't functional for a good month or three).

Truth being said, he needed some exercise and Akamaru wouldn't be enough to put him through his paces. He needed a colony, no, an army of dogs running all around him. And his mother. 'Cause Hinata Yamanaka had turned him into a real pussy. And Tsume would make sure he felt the brunt of it.

A thing to be said about Kiba, whenever he was about to go bawling his eyes out, he would go to Hinata, if Hinata was the reason he was going crybaby, he went to Hana and when Hana wasn't there, he, as a last resort, went to his mother. And whenever he came back, he was cured from his troubles. And traumatized for life.

"Off I am. I'll be back for dinner."

He waited for a split of an instant for Hinata to tell him something from the kitchen. He would have taken fucking anything.

Don't come back late. Prepare for a fucking fart explosion. Don't go, my love, marry me. You're a fucking fag.

Anything, he would have taken anything besides that silence and Shino's lack of expression.

Couldn't the asshole just drop his _Matrix_ shit with the glasses and the sweater?!

From the kitchen Hinata heard the frontdoor being shut and locked and silence prevailed throughout the apartment. Kiba and Akamaru had gone away. Shino was left to study in peace and prepare for his midterms.

She wasn't dumb enough not to know Kiba hadn't noticed her reaction. She'd hurt him. But most of all she'd hurt herself. She hadn't been able to tune out Neji's voice in her head as he'd whispered venomous word to her ear.

'_You made me do this. It is your entire fault. You wanted this; you'd lured me into it._'

As she remembered what it was that had happened between him and her before Ino, she frantically started to chop a carrot. Her eyes watered and she couldn't see clear anymore. At the speed she was going she would soon reach her own hand and they would eat some Hinata stew for dinner.

A tear fell on the chopping board. It was because of the onion to her right. Some great rationalizing especially since the onion had yet to be peeled.

She was a mess. A fucking mess, as Ino would say. Having seen the same lust and desire she had been confronted to for five years of her life had made her feel helpless.

She was disgusting. She was so filthy. She didn't want to do to Kiba what she had done to Neji. She had destroyed him with her foulness, with her sinful ways.

Kiba, who was soft and loving, who had the nicest smile she had ever seen and the most generous heart she had been given to encounter, should not let her sully him like she had Neji.

But she didn't know how to change herself. She didn't know what she had to do not to provoke men. She had tried everything, everything. And yet it happened again. And it had to happen with Kiba, her best friend. Her brother.

Actually that was why she married Ino in the first place. It had been such a comfy cocoon that had kept her safe from herself. Whenever she found herself doubting her own resolve to keep away from men, she just had to flaunt the simple gold band that shone on her ring-finger.

Before she could go on with the chopping, almost wishing to get to a finger and punish herself for being a whore, she felt a hand grab onto her wrist. Jumping, she turned her tear-stained face towards wherever the hand had come from.

Shino was standing ten centimetres away from her and with his other hand all but tore the knife out of her grip. She had always wondered what it was that he was hiding under his sunglasses. When it came to freak eyes, she'd been there, done that.

Pushing her aside, he took over the carrot and mustered up all his intellect to get how to chop it into pieces correctly. But the intellectual pain he was feeling at figuring out how the hell women could make perfect, small pieces was fucking worth it.

As he heard Hinata chuckle at his lame-o cooking skills (he wasn't even at the point where he had to make water boil), he relaxed slightly. He'd been staring at Hinata passing an inch away from chopping her fingers off for five minutes without her noticing. He'd had to do something before they ended up eating beans _à la Hinata_, literally.

All concentration, he couldn't believe he could dissect a fucking horse and couldn't chop a damn carrot like any other faggot in the world. Shooting a suspicious glance to the onion that was waiting; he couldn't just keep his trap shut. He'd better find something good to comfort Hinata before he was stuck taking care of the onion.

"You're both clueless … But you'll be ok."

**x.x.x**

"Uh-huh. No way. They had a pretty long run though. I thought he'd settle for him … Well yeah, he is pretty difficult to work with but he treats his assistants better than the models. So what was it that made the guy go all crazy on Gaara? He is just going to sue him because of the contract? Come on, get your head out of your ass, buddy … What? He is honestly going to pay him some indemnity?! Ridiculous."

Hinata was drinking in every word Kurenai was spluttering into the receiver. Whenever someone was talking about Gaara, her ears just went _Dumbo the Elephant_ on the conversation.

Had anyone cared to open the third drawer from the bottom of Kurenai's counter, they would have found a very disturbing binder with _Gaara Sabaku-No_ written on it. And the binder was full of all types of shit.

Mostly photographs directly out of magazines, spreads he'd shot, ads that had made him famous. And some articles about him. And notes she had taken about virtually anything that hit her eye. The lighting, the setting, the pose of the models, anything. In other words, a personality cult. She only needed an altar and dead animals as sacrifice.

She was an obsessive freak. But he was a genius.

She hated Sasuke's arrogant, _look-at-me_ type of art. Everything in his pictures was stiff and trenchant.

She remembered a girl she'd met at the studio a few years ago. She hadn't been your average dumb model that had no idea what she was getting herself into.

She had been an artist, cultivated, lively. She had looked at Hinata, smiled and told her something about weird angles and broken dolls.

At the moment, Hinata hadn't understood a damn thing. But she'd thought the girl to be beautiful, in an ethereal kind of way. She'd never heard of her again, not that she had expected a postcard, or something.

However thinking back and remembering all of Sasuke's work, she had an idea what the girl had meant.

The angles from which he took his shots were so weird that they made all the models he photographed look like broken dolls. And Ino, who had already been broken in so many ways, had become nothing but another of his dolls.

Gaara though was all in curves. His art, that is. The way he shot made any girl, even the sleaziest crack-whore, look fragile, fluid and innocent. The girls that worked with him always came out like perfect porcelain dolls.

And then, he broke them. Each and every one of his shots was gold and each and every one of the models ended up with her career wrecked because the whole Industry heard of how she couldn't satisfy him.

Besides Ino, who had been broken way before she'd crossed paths with him. In fact, his account for Hana Inuzuka's new collection had been a catastrophe according to the critiques. They had called it a circus where all the girls looked like dying elephants. So maybe was it that, unlike Uchiha Sasuke, Gaara was not one for the broken dolls.

"So, what?! He's going to be doing everything by himself? Is he fucking serious?! I mean, I don't know how I managed without my Hinata. In fact, I know, I didn't manage at all. And the volume of accounts he is coping with is way too big for him to take the calls, draft the contracts, prepare all his shit, get on location, shoot, develop, edit and ship. Then again, you're right. He's rich; he doesn't really need any stints. Always wondered why he was in the Industry."

Pulling herself up on the counter, Kurenai let her red high heels dangle from her feet. She was not a gossiper, but once a subject hit her fancy, she went rabid. And Hinata loved it.

It was like watching _90210 Beverly Hills_ (Hinata had always had a little bit of an anachronistic side to herself; she was always behind on the latest trends, as long as they didn't imply photography).

If ever some bitchy model walked into the studio right there and then and went right for Kurenai, Hinata was ready for the apocalypse. She was actually expecting it eagerly. She'd never been one for series, but that could change right about then.

As Kurenai and Hinata's eyes locked, Kurenai's perfectly plucked eyebrows lowered in a scowl that transformed Hinata into the equivalent of a human tomato. _Poof_, magic.

Way of feeling naked in front of the peanut gallery. The fact there was only one peanut didn't change the feel of the situation.

"Yeah, Bev, listen I gotta do something."

There was nothing to be done on Monday afternoons. Hinata felt the hair on the back of her neck raise instantly. She didn't like the tone Kurenai had used to dismiss her friend on the other side of the line. And she did not like the way Kurenai was frowning at her.

"Kiss, kiss, Bev."

_Kiss, kiss, Bev_ had never sounded more menacing, had you asked Hinata. As Kurenai hung up, she jumped down the counter and walked around to take place beside Hinata.

Hinata was in for it. Thinking about what it was that she had done wrong of lately, she felt sweat break out on her brow. Tears were already starting to well up in her eyes. Kurenai obviously noticed how her shoulders had tensed as soon as she'd sat beside Hinata.

Grasping Hinata's shoulder, Kurenai felt the instantaneous tremor that shook her _associate_'s delicate frame. Inching closer, she threw her arm around Hinata's neck and pulled her towards her side, the way a mother would have to comfort her daughter.

"You and I need to talk."

_Uh-Oh_. Hinata did not want to talk.

"Hina …"

Unable to raise her head, Hinata tried to hide further under the veil of black hair that was falling over her face. And obviously, Kurenai was having none of that shit.

"Hinata, look at me when I am talking to you."

Weighing her options, Hinata realized that she had … none. She could either raise her head and face whatever it was that Kurenai would hurl at her head or raise her head and snivel. Second option, please, thanks.

As she did as told, Hinata started whimpering like a wuss and crying like the crybaby that she was. And Kurenai's hormones transformed her immediately into mother-hen. Grabbing onto Hinata's arms, she rubbed them up and down in a soothing movement.

"Sweetie, don't cry. You didn't do anything wrong. We just need to talk, is all. Don't worry."

Hinata nodded even if she had never been more unsure in her life. Why the hell did Kurenai _want to talk_?! She never _wanted to talk_! When she had something to say, she would scream it from her office or get into Hinata's face _presto_, chew her out, turn on her heels and go back to work.

"Hinata, sweetie, you are not happy here."

Cue to Hinata hyperventilating. And Kurenai starting to doubt her own plan.

"I-I-I … am v-v-very happy …"

Interrupting her, Kurenai squeezed Hinata's forearms painfully.

"No you are not. You haven't been happy for months now. You're going to listen carefully to what I have to say. You feel like your talent is being flushed down the shitter and you are absolutely right."

Hinata opened her mouth to protest, but by the way Kurenai raised a hand and shot a menacing glare, Hinata knew better than to say anything.

"I am stuck here begging for accounts that don't mean a shit for me. Shooting ads for malls and retail stores, as high-end as they may be, was not what I wanted in life. But since Asuma's birth, this is all I can get. And this is all that I will ever get. Hinata, this is all I can give _you_."

"B-b-but, I d-d-don't w-w – …"

"Hinata, shut the fuck up and listen to what I have to say."

Well that sure had the expected effect. Hinata's eyes widened under her bangs and she did finally shut … the fuck up.

"I am going to fire you …"

At the magic word, Hinata could not stop the horrid wail that escaped her. She knew this would happen. Kurenai was just giving her the _it is not you, it is me speech_. Bottom of the line was, Hinata had lost her job.

Grabbing her chin, Kurenai raised Hinata's face by force. Repeating herself louder, her red eyes bore directly into Hinata's, through her thick black bangs.

"I am going to fire you so you can apply for a photography assistant position at Gaara Sabaku-No's studio. This is the chance of your lifetime. Now, do not interrupt me. What I will tell you, I have told no one.

I arrived to the US when I was barely eighteen years old, just like you. After the downfall of the Soviet Union, Finland went into a pretty bleak recession. I was from a small village up North. My mother was the only teacher of an elementary school that had twenty-five students, from grade one to grade eight. My father was working in Russia's oil industry.

There were no fucking roads leading to that damn village and yet we still managed to have it all. Music, ballet, art. We did all of that in that village that had barely seven hundred people. My grandfather taught me photography and gave me my first camera. You could say that it was in my DNA.

And then the USSR exploded from the inside out and everything we had went to the devil. No more music, art, nothing. My father came back from Russia and started drinking and my mom ended up working to feed us all.

I didn't want that for a life. I ran away. I just made my way to Helsinki. I would have ridden a fucking reindeer at that point. I was sixteen at the time; I hadn't even finished high school.

I was picked up by the underground movements. I did it all. I was a punk, I was an anarchist, I did a lot of stupid shit. And drank a lot of Vodka. But I never stopped taking shots.

That was the time I fell in love with the Industry. Going around with different bands, I got my first taste of what the Industry had to offer when I saw a _Vivienne Westwood_ runaway on TV.

It was about that time that I decided to give it my all and head to the US. As an illegal immigrant obviously. I got a visitor visa, since by that time; Finland had started humping the leg of all the countries that mattered, like a good doggie. But that visa just lasts a certain time. I ended up in L.A. anyways, convinced I'd make it.

_90210_ was a huge thing when I was young, not that I had ever watched that shit. You imagine a punk watching that?! Anyways, I arrived here with no money, no friends, all alone. And what do you think a lonely girl, that doesn't even speak a fucking word of English, can do to survive? …"

At that point, she took a pause and brought a shaking hand to her eyes. Taking in a quivering breath, she continued.

"I ended up in the porn industry that was huge in L.A. at the time. I was pretty exotic, being albinos and shit. And I waitressed on the side, to make ends meet. It was the dumbest, bleakest period of my life.

Obviously, once you get into that type of shit, you'll end up in even deeper shit. I was knee-deep in drugs. I couldn't make it through the day without my dose of heroin. I still have the needle scars to remind me of all the fucking shit I got myself into at that age.

But, I never stopped shooting. I was always taking shots with my grandfather's old Soviet camera. Shots of the porn industry's insides, my ups and downs with dope, even my job as a waitress. I have a few albums that are filled with the equivalent in pictures of a biography.

And that's when Asuma came along – my son's father, that is. He just appeared one evening at my restaurant and started chatting me up. A gentleman. He was different from the guys that fucked me in front of the camera, you know.

He wore a suit and smelled of expensive cologne. And articulated when he spoke. And was hands-down gorgeous in a very expensive, high-maintenance way.

He tried to pick me up during the whole evening. I had been on bar duty and was stuck staring at him and wondering what the fuck went wrong in his life for a guy like him to spend his time trying to hit on an obvious mess.

Later on I learned that that very day he had given in his resignation to _Elite_ and decided to start his own modeling agency with his best friend. He'd been an agent for _Elite_ for years. I often wonder whether we would have met had he not flushed his career down the drain that evening.

A _make it or break it_ kinda deal.

And before you get the wrong idea about us, he paid me for the night. I won't sugarcoat it. I had thrown my last few hundreds on heroin. I was hungry, desperate and was about to accept shit in the porn industry that … would have driven me to commit suicide, I realize that now. He was offering more for one night than what I was worth for a lifetime.

I took him to my hole and … we didn't do it. Because he spent his evening leafing through my shit. He had just found himself a cheap photographer to build the portfolios of the agencies future girls and guys.

And after I had done everything he wanted of me … you'd expect for him to fuck me and throw me away. That's how it works around here.

But he didn't, on the contrary, he invested a shitload into me, for whatever reason. He got me unhooked from all my shit, made me meet all the important people of the Industry and … at age twenty, I had my first spread in _L.A. Magazine_.

And then, it just went up, up, up. At twenty-eight, I shot an ad for _Lancôme_ that finally established me as a real photographer; I was going to be finally taken seriously. It is always tougher when you are a woman to make it big in the Industry, whether you be model, designer or photographer.

But Asuma got himself killed two years later. Driving his fucking _Porsche_ too fast. And then, three months after his death, I was told that my intermittent puking was not the result of shock at Asuma's death but that I was pregnant.

You can imagine what type of an ass-burner that was. I think I never hated the father and son more than that time.

But I kept the baby and I don't regret it. It is everything that is left from Asuma and honestly, it was worth it. I rather have my son with me than a flourishing career without anything to remind me of Asuma.

The rest of the story you know. I settled my ass in L.A. permanently, no more on-location stints for me, the immigration shit had long been taken care of, and I started doing pissy spreads for _L.A. Magazine_, ads for malls and high-end retail stores just to survive and feed baby Asuma. And hired you to take care of the portfolios."

At that point, Hinata had started crying again, but this time it was not out of fright but out of sadness. Kurenai's story was truly inspiring. She had never given up on her love of photography and had fought her way through life.

Hinata had always felt admiration, looking at that headstrong woman marching through life with confidence. But now, some type of reverence replaced that admiration and she couldn't help but feel lucky they had crossed paths.

Throwing her head back, Kurenai suppressed her tears. She wouldn't go crybaby at age thirty-six while she had a six-year old son and a twenty-one year old _associate_ who had enough of that snivel act going on.

She couldn't show a weak side to Hinata whom she had to convince to just follow her plan. She cleared her throat before adding the last few details she wanted to get across.

"And before you ask why I told you about this, my life and the way I made it into the Industry was the reason I took you in that time you appeared in this studio all soaked and looking like a hobo.

I just had the impression I was seeing myself at age eighteen, all alone and looking for some kindness. For a chance. And honestly, your talent spoke for itself. I didn't want you to end up making the same mistakes as me.

But this is all I can offer you. I am not your Asuma. I lost all my contacts in the Industry and there is no one I can introduce you to and … I don't want to let you model.

I won't bullshit you, a lot of the agents that came in with their models asked about you and whether you would be interested in modeling and I sent them all to hell.

Trust me, that is not the shit for you. You are an artist, a photographer. But you are twenty-one years old. At that age, I already had tiny spreads in all types of magazines and here you are, still making portfolios for small-scale models.

I didn't want to have your getting into the wrong industry on my conscience. And I don't want you flushing your talent in this hole on my conscience either. You either go get a position with Gaara, or you get the fuck out of here and don't come back.

He can take you to places you've never been, introduce you to people I never even came close to and he will surely pay you more than I can ever imagine to."

At that point, Hinata brought her shaking hands to her face and buried into them as deep as she could. She needed to snap out of whatever alternate universe she had been sucked into. This had to be a nightmare, and she would wake up from it any minute now.

But when Kurenai's hand grabbed her wrist tight, she knew that this was the ugly reality.

"H-He will … h-h-hate m-m-me …"

"Yes, he will. The same way he hates everyone. It is Gaara Sabaku-No we are talking about. But his last assistant lasted two years, which is not that bad in the Industry when you think about it. And the guy never sued him for assault. He just worked _a lot_."

Tersely pulling Hinata's hands away, Kurenai shot her a _no-nonsense_ glance.

"He will work you to exhaustion. Where I ask for eight hours a day, he can ask for sixteen or twenty-four. The only thing he does of his life is shoot, shower, eat, sleep and shoot. He shoots a lot and he barely ever sleeps. I've met him. He is difficult to work with because he doesn't speak. He'll expect you to read his mind and be perfect. Perfectly perfect."

"I c-c-can't d-d-do it … I c-c-can't … K-Kurenai, p-p-please."

Exasperated by all that hesitance, Kurenai jumped to her feet as the action woman she was and headed once again towards the counter.

In no time, she was rummaging through drawers and throwing papers all over the place before finding what she had been looking for. And making Hinata regret being bad at hiding her things.

Hinata was like a squirrel. Either she hid her nuts too well to ever find them again; either she hid them so badly that another squirrel snatched them right under her nose.

She couldn't believe she was thinking about nuts as Kurenai triumphantly waved her secret cult binder in the air.

"What do you have to say for your defence, Mrs. Yamanaka? I have incriminating proofs against you. You are guilty of being very capable at doing your job. And an obsessive freak."

Well, even if Gaara fucking threw her out of the window of his studio; she still had her part-time week-end job at _Taco Bell_. She'd move in with Shino and Kiba, start paying one-third of the rent … who the fuck was she kidding?!

She was a married woman planning to move in with two bachelors because her boss just kicked her ass out. And why did her boss do so?! Because she didn't want Hinata to lose her youth doing mediocre shots. She'd rather have her being burned to death with lighting equipment working for a psychopath.

A very talented psychopath that transformed _Vogue_ into a wonderland whenever he had a spread in it.

"You have fifteen minutes to update your resume", Kurenai mouthed, pointing at her _Mac_, "and I'll go select some of your work for him. And then I'll drive you; we don't have anything to do anyways. Or do you prefer to run away like a pussy?"

Hinata was not a _pussy_. Well, actually … well not in the way Kurenai meant! And she wouldn't let anyone push her around … Bullshit, she very much let everyone walk all over her. She was just too scared to disobey.

It was that period of the month, she could swear. Kurenai was too sweary (a completely new word needed to be invented to describe Kurenai's state), too jumpy and too active for it not to be her hormones getting wonky.

There was no point in rationalizing. She knew Kurenai would follow up on her threat. Hinata had the choice of giving up before trying and ending up jobless or walking right into Gaara's studio and facing all her fears. Why the hell wasn't there a third option?!

Standing up on wobbly legs, she took a tentative step forward under Kurenai's approving eyes. Well fuck her (Hinata was getting rude under pressure), she wanted to do it. She was done being a pushover. In fact, she'd decided, when she left Japan, that she would stop giving up before she even tried.

Truth being said, Kurenai had pinned her perfectly. She had felt dissatisfied with where she was at in life. Ino was travelling the world, appearing in all types of magazines and filling their bank account while Hinata was sitting in a studio waiting for something, _anything_, to happen.

She'd started feeling guilt at wanting more. And Kurenai had noticed it. It made her feel even worse than she had up until then. But finally _something_ had happened. She was at the crossroads.

Either she walked right into Gaara's studio and kissed up to him the best way she could, either she spent the next twenty years of her life working for _Taco_ fucking _Bell_.

Squaring her shoulders and raising her head, Hinata took in a deep breath. She was dizzy and didn't remember her own family name anymore … but she would do it. She _could_ do it.

She wouldn't let that _ginger_ Gaara Sabaku-No push her around. Whom was she kidding, he wouldn't even need to. A punch to her face was enough.

"L-L-Let's _f-f-f-f-fucking_ d-d-do this _s-s-s-shit_ …"

"Hell yeah, now you're talking, girl!"

Why did shit always hit the fan on days Ino was coming back home?!

**x.x.x**

"M-Maybe w-we should come back l-later. I w-wouldn't want t-t-to disturb h-h-him."

"Hinata, you get your ass out of my fucking car or I'll kick you out by myself."

Kurenai was waving a paper bag in front of Hinata's face menacingly. And she was holding that paper bag just in case Hinata started hyperventilating again. She had had three anxiety attacks on their way.

"I t-think I'll t-t-take that j-j-just in c-case."

As she reached out for the paper bag, Kurenai snatched it away.

"No, you will not. You are going to get out of the car, square your shoulders, march right into that snotty, snobbish studio right there, head for Gaara's office, and throw that yellow file on his table. Don't let him see any fear. He is like a shark; fear turns him on big time."

Moving her arm in front of Hinata's chest, Kurenai opened the door to her _BMW_ and motioned for Hinata to get out. If there was one person you did not want to piss off, it was a hormonal Kurenai.

Since Hinata really didn't have a choice, she did step out the car. And as soon as her feet touched the sideway, the door behind her was shut and locked. Someone was afraid Hinata would desperately try to climb back in.

Painfully slowly, Hinata made her way to the crystal door on which _Sabaku-No Art Photography Studio_ was written in silver letters.

At first glance, the interior, seen through the door, appeared in a simplistic light that made the studio even more snobbish. It wasn't kitsch at least, and Hinata's aesthetic feelings were not hurt by the black walls and white furniture that waited for her inside.

It was not much different from Kurenai's studio. However, even if the furniture was just as minimalistic and even if a counter of onyx was placed by the waiting area in the same fashion, Gaara's studio was simply … better.

It had nothing to do with the look; it had to do with the feel of it. This studio was barely ever used. He was mostly on location and the thing was locked during extensive periods of time.

Which meant that when Gaara went to the trouble of showing his ass at his own studio, someone had paid a hefty price for his presence.

A portrait by Gaara had about the same value in American Dollars as a _Dior_ evening dress. And there weren't many people in the US that were willing to pay the price for Gaara's little birdy to come after them. He didn't treat his subjects better than his models, so why pay to get the shit beaten out of you?!

However, with his little assistant-trouble, there were chances Gaara would be found at his office, since he obviously did not keep contracts and legal documents of no importance at his mansion (ok, it wasn't a mansion, just a very big house).

As Hinata grabbed the knob to the door of the studio, she felt her heart beating in her throat. She had the impression she had spent the day grabbing doorknobs. Turning one last time, she met Kurenai's menacing glare through the _BMW_'s window.

Hinata sighed deeply before turning the doorknob and letting a desperate moan escape her as it turned just fine and the door made way for her. As soon as she'd stepped inside of the studio, a whiff of expensive male cologne hit her face.

He was there. He could only be there. Unless he used some type of _Hugo Boss_ to keep his studio fresh. Why yes, he must have had an air-freshner that sprayed high-end perfume all over the place. Great rationalizing, Hinata.

Now get your dumb butt over to the office door and go in for the kill.

Of course, one could imagine that the speed at which Hinata did walk by the counter and headed for the door (on which was written on gold plate: _Gaara Sabaku-No, Photographer_, as if he were the CEO of some company) was closer to that of a snail than a _Ferrari_.

However, she did manage to reach it eventually. And from that moment on, everything happened like in a dream. Or a coma, if something happen when someone was in a coma, that is.

The little she did remember about her little fieldtrip to Gaara's was that she'd knocked on the door, got no response, turned the knob, entered the office.

And that is when it happened.

Gaara had been seated at a contemporary metal table, throwing photographs and papers around in a fit of rage. He had abruptly raised his head at the interruption and stared right at her. In fact, it had felt as if he had started right through her.

She chose that moment to fuck it all up, of course. As his pale eyes locked with hers, she felt the blush that spread from her waist up and as the heat coursed up, she became numb.

Before she had realized what was happening, the yellow file she had been holding against her chest slipped from her hands and she joined it on the floor.

She had fainted. In his fucking office. He hadn't had enough of a shitty day. Some unknown girl had appeared out of nowhere and fainted in the middle of his office to add some drama to all the mess.

If there was one thing Gaara Sabaku-No had been known for was his temper. And here he had a fucking shitty day, with his photography assistant suing his ass because he had broken their contract.

The guy had destroyed the equivalent of three films. Of course, Gaara had them in numerical, however he never kept numerical copies of his art. Numerical was flawed, impure. It was good to be _photoshopped_ by overzealous editors at mediocre magazines and published to feed the sick phantasms of fat Americans.

Gaara always fucking developed his films and kept each and every one of his photographs for himself, in their original flawless form. Because whatever Gaara made was perfect. Flawless. His fucking piss and shit was perfect and made to be worshipped at the Metropolitan, if you asked him.

And here you had a cocksucker destroying the equivalent of three films.

So here was Gaara firing that incompetent idiot. And getting a lawsuit glued to his ass. Then, while trying to put some orders in all the shit that cocksucker had left behind and trying to figure out how the fuck the administrative side to a studio worked, some bitch had to barge in and faint in the middle of his office.

Obviously, since she was no model (he'd always considered models right under the average cow, cows at least made milk), he could not just let her die in the middle of his office. That would be criminal negligence. And he did not want to be stuck paying any indemnity without having had the pleasure of damaging the goods.

So to make his day even more fucking miserable, here he was kneeling above the figure of that hazard that had appeared out of nowhere and disturbed him in the middle of a fit of rage. However, the good news was he had a glass of mineral water on ice in his hand.

Examining the thin, white neck of the woman, he wondered whether it would be worth going to prison for murder by strangulation.

As he spilled the content of his glass right onto her face (obviously murder was off the plate, for now at least), he looked at her eyes open instantly. Swiftly, she sat up, her forehead making contact with his nose.

And a crunchy sound resonated throughout the room. Fuck. His. Life. As blood started flowing out of the nostrils he brought the sleeve of his expensive Egyptian-cotton shirt to his nose. 'Cause to make the day even better; he had to hemorrhage through the nose.

What was the next step? A fucking plane deciding to go _9/11_ on his studio?!

As Hinata registered what had happened, she realized that Gaara Sabaku-No, the genius, the guy that could transform an oil spill into a _Vogue_ cover, was holding a grey sleeve to his abundantly bleeding nose. Five centimeters away from her face.

And instead of fainting anew, spluttering excuses or something else in that line, she simply stared through her bangs right into his pale eyes.

Her father had once taken her and Hanabi to Okinawa when she had been thirteen, before she had moved in with Neji. The sea that she had seen then for the first time had held the same shade of green. Or was it blue? She did not know. What she did know was that she was losing herself in it.

Had she known what her life would have been like, she would have found a way to drown in Okinawa, to let the green, blue sea take her over and pull her to its abysses. However, here was her chance. She could drown in these eyes that saw beauty in ugliness and transformed the most insignificant thing into art.

Here he was, standing five centimeters away from a girl that busted his nose and instead of punching her right back, he felt his shoulders relax and his mind being hazed by the smell of detergent and shampoo. The air around them became heavy.

Before she could grasp what had happened, her bangs were being swept aside by a soft hand and her eyes were revealed. Shock at seeing them, made him grasp her hair and pull violently. As her head tilted, she let a soft moan escape her and his aquamarine eyes narrowed.

Pale eyes, as if she were blind, and yet he could see their darker center dilating, responding to changes in light.

She had sparse, dispersed brows, characteristic of Asian people. Lips and nose that would point to that eventuality. But the eyes were a mystery. Instead of being almond-shaped, they were big, bordered by long, dark lashes … and innocent, like those of a doe. Like his mother's had been.

It happened that in moments of intense rage, Gaara was attracted to a model. His dick stood alert, as would've said his brother. And then, he fucked her and threw her away. Those were the only moments of infatuation that he indulged in. And had he been given the opportunity to do so at the moment he would have.

Looking at the fragility of her neck, he could believe that under those baggy clothes of hers, she was all edges. And there was nothing more that he loved than making edges and trenchant bones undulate under pleasure.

However, such a moment could not last forever. Something had to happen, for example Gaara pushing her down on the cold floor of his office and parting her thighs. That was what chicks wanted of him, that and a stint. This one just took a more original way about it.

The girl in a movement of horror tore her head away from his grip, leaving strands of long black hair to fall from his fingers. As a tremor shook her shoulders, he felt all the lightness of the situation disappear and his rage resurface. At least his nose stopped bleeding and was obviously not broken.

Standing up, his eyes registered what would have been papers and photographs on the floor. As the girl had fainted, the file she had been carrying had opened and everything had gone flying around.

A glance to the photographs ensured him that she was no model, since none of them featured her. He could imagine what it was that had brought her there.

"I am not interested."

He hadn't even given her the opportunity to state her case, to beg or to kiss up. One glance to her photos had been enough. As she became numb all over again and threatened to flip over, he hunched down and grabbed a specific photograph.

Bringing it to his eyes, he turned it towards the faltering, pink light of the afternoon that shone through the window behind his desk.

"You took this one?"

"I-I-I … y-yes …"

Cue to Hinata delaying the fainting. As he turned around, for the first time in her life, she saw him smile. And it was not an agreeable sight to behold. As his long, white teeth glimmered, she found herself reaching for her neck as if she was expecting for him to go vampire on her ass.

"You have someone to confirm the timestamp?"

Hinata always printed a timestamp on her photographs. It was mostly to facilitate organization. However, the way Gaara's carnivorous eyes bore into her, she wondered whether she should've better found another way to keep track of her own art.

He turned the picture around to show her which one he was referring to and her eyes widened in surprise. Her best shot, taken two years ago. It was a zoom-in of Ino, a black-and-white. Her hair had been messy and she had been clad in a simple black turtleneck.

However, the way her palms had been turned around and pushed against the side of her throat and her fingers bent down at the crook of her neck as she had tilted her head back had reminded Hinata of a very sensual scene of self-satisfaction (a woman caressing herself, ok?! Well, it was tastier than full-blown masturbation, thanks).

"I-I-I … y-yes, m-m-my employer c-c-can confirm and … I-I-Itachi Uchiha f-f-from _R-R-Red D-Dawn_ …"

His smile stretched, more menacing than that of a shark's. Motioning for Hinata to stand up, he stalked back to his desk and sat at it, rummaging through some drawers.

Retrieving the newest edition of _Vogue_, one that had yet to be made available on the stands (but Gaara didn't need to wait for their dumb deadlines and whatever, he got a copy without even asking for it), he tossed it at her.

As she grabbed it in the air, she couldn't refrain from gasping. On the front page was Yamanka Ino … her wife! At first, she could feel nothing but awe and admiration at the idea that Ino had made it front page. It had been her first fucking _Vogue_ shooting … and here she was, on the front page.

As a soft smile grazed the girl's lips, Gaara raised an invisible brow at her. Did she have no pride?! And then it happened, as soon as the expression of joy had appeared on her features, it disappeared and was replaced by horror.

As he caressed his slightly stubbly chin, he relished the plasticity of her facial expressions. She was very much alive, able to pass from joy to horror without any intermediate such as anger, sadness. It was very interesting for him as a photographer.

And what had Hinata seen to make her overlook the joy at Ino's brazen conquest? Spread on the first page was her _photograph_. Not exactly hers. The black turtleneck had been replaced by heavy golden ropes around Ino's neck. The face was not bear but smudged in heavy, green and trails around the eyes. The hair was not messy but puffy and wild.

However, the pose, the look, the way the lips parted … it was Hinata's shot. Her best shot.

Gaara almost expected her to faint anew (he had expected for her to do so a few times already) and yet, beside blanching she did not do much. In fact, he would have bet that she had stopped breathing. However, he had little time to lose with her.

Based on the quality of the shot and since it had most probably made his day for a very personal reason, he felt lenient and instead of throwing a chair at her head for having made him lose a perfectly quantity of mineral water and his nose bleed, he would give her what she came for.

Not that he had even thought about taken over another hindrance. The good thing was that if she signed a contract with him, he could make her work to exhaustion and make her pay for his busted nose in a way or another.

"Photography assistant?"

She did not know what she answered, she barely remembered having picked up her resume from the ground and walking over to hand it to him.

"Fourteen dollars an hour, hours vary. Phone number?"

Half of her brain was functioning and answering his questions, while the other was racing one hundred kilometers an hours. Her complexion became paler and paler by the minute as rage grew inside of her. Her small hands formed fists and tremors started passing through her face. While her voice remained contained, soft and kept on answering Gaara's short questions.

Something about passports, on-location, material. She could not remember. The only thing she was thinking about was Ino. Always Ino. In fact, it was Ino that she was obsessed with, so obsessed with that she did not notice the scorching glance that Gaara shot him or the movement of his finger across his chin.

Eventually, without even grasping the words he had used to dismiss her, she had felt herself bend over and gather all her samples and bringing them to him. It was with an assurance that she had to show her face the next morning at six a.m. that she had exited Gaara's without even thanking him.

She had walked as if in a haze towards the door of the studio and exited. Had Kurenai not thrown her head out of the window of her car, Hinata would have blindly had walked on, wherever her feet took her.

It is only once seated inside of the _BMW_ that Hinata realized she had actually gotten the job. She had gotten the job. And ran away with Gaara's copy of _Vogue_.

"You didn't get it? … Well I didn't really expect that you would, anyways … but who knows, I mean he is pretty weird, it was worth the try."

"I got it."

It took a minute for the words to sink in. And before she knew what was happening, she had Kurenai turn her head to face her and with all the stern seriousness she was capable of asking:

"Hinata, what the hell took you so long? What were you doing in there, giving him a fucking blowjob?! Good job, girly, whatever it is that you were doing, it sure made it happen."

As she clasped her hand to Hinata's back, she got her to shrive up instantly and start moaning unintelligible words.

"Hina, I was joking. I am sorry, sweetie. I know you didn't do such a thing."

But it obviously wasn't what had wounded Hinata. There was something she was desperately wringing in her hands and must have at least been related to her bout of worry. Or maybe simply meeting the number one psycho in the Industry had been enough to shake her to her foundations.

Softly, keeping her eyes glued to Hinata's (or where Kurenai believed her eyes to be under those crazy bangs), Kurenai softly, but firmly pulled what seemed to be a magazine out of Hinata's grasp.

Unfolding it, Kurenai had just to shoot one glance at the cover to know what had gone down. If there was one thing Kurenai paid attention to, it was Hinata's art.

She knew each one of Hinata's shots by heart, with their flaws and their qualities. And she knew Hinata's wife by heart. And here was Ino Yamanaka on the cover of _Vogue_, in what was a great, stylish _copy_ of Hinata's best shot.

"Fuck … You want to stay over at my place tonight, Hinata?"

"No."

"You want me to drive you to Kiba's?"

"No."

Kurenai had to sigh. Today was honestly not Hinata's day. Had she known that this type of shit would happen all of a sudden, she wouldn't have went all _Dr. Phil_ on Hinata's ass and forced her to take a shot at Gaara.

"Let me just pick Asuma up from daycare and I'll drive you home."

**x.x.x**

What was better than a fucking orgasm? Taking a flight from _Paris_ in Business class. Fuck Ino, she loved all the place she had to stretch her feet. She loved the whiskey she could nurse without being looked at as if she were a monster. She loved the lack of kids. This should have been called the _No Whimpering_ zone.

But honestly, Ino could have born everything and anything at the moment. She did well strutting the runaway for _Prada_. She had given them her best catwalk ever, by far. She had went _kiss kiss_ on the fat cheeks of them Parisian rats, not caring one bit whether or not they shaved their armpits or toted a baguette while wearing infect berets!

And here she was coming back triumphant. She would walk back to _Red Dawn_ and be welcomed with Champaign, caviar and cocaine. Her three favorite _C_s. And then she would see an oversized cover of _Vogue_ being hanged in the middle of the agency. With her on the cover of course. The first _Red Dawn_ girl to make it _that_ big.

Even better, better than everything, she would see Hinata. After two fucking months of having had nothing else but dicks shoved into each and every one of her holes. Mostly Sasuke's, but she was sick of the cocks. There was just so much testosterone a girl could bear.

And the first thing she would do seeing her favorite person in the world … well the first thing she would do was sniff a track of coke. Because once she again, she had not taken her dose. But who cared?! She was the fucking cover of _Vogue_ … after her first time shooting for it.

Had she known Sasuke would make it happen with a flick of his magic stick, she would have hunted him down with a harpoon in the middle of _London_ a good three years ago! And raped him in the middle of the subway. Okay, she honestly needed to stop watching fucking _hentai_.

But back to Hinata, so the first thing she would do, after having snowed her nose big time of course, was French kiss her till she fainted from lack of oxygen.

And then? Then they would get good and dirty, thank you very much. She was developing a real aversion for dicks and needed some chick love to get over the last two traumatizing months.

Ino decided that she would never look at a dwarf, a real one, ever again. That had been a career low, just there. At least it landed her a new shooting in _Mozambique_ with an up-and-coming photographer that would throw her onto _Marc Jacob_'s Summer/Fall catalogue.

Sasuke had had a little fit at the idea she was going to whore herself off for some other guy, but he would get over it. She was his, all his, whatever _bla bla bla_. He had given her _Vogue_; she had given him the blowjob of a lifetime. She needed to live while he got himself a new account and worked on his own shit.

She wouldn't model for his artistic photography at a lower rate. She had a fixed rate; Konan was taking a huge percentage off of it. In other words, she was almost tearing the skin off of Ino's ass with her deductions. She couldn't afford the idea of being _solely_ Sasuke's as he wished.

But fuck Sasuke, she was on _Vogue_'s cover.

And look at this; good shit was happening all at once. Fuck _Murphy_. In the ass. They arrived just in time in New York and Ino had more than enough time to replace the Whiskey with a Margarita … and she didn't care whether she was becoming alcoholic or not! God bless alcohol.

Her _Miu Miu_ flats were joyously tangling from her narrow feet as she sat at a stool flashing a smile at the bartender. Guys in suits that spent their days in such airport clubs were checking her out and that got her humming to herself.

'Look at me, boys, I am fucking hot. Look at me as much as you want, because that is all you can do.'

Her smile widened and she made her high ponytail swing from side to side in joy. It had been her favorite game when she'd been a little girl. Before her childhood had gone to hell that is.

She had always made her hair swing from side to side, keeping it up during hours. Her mother had thought her to be retarded. The retard kid. That's what Ino had always been.

Well mommy-dearest, Ino succeeded. Here she was, being greater a model than her mother had been a designer. She was making it big. Soon enough, she knew, she would get a cosmetics or perfume stint and make it to the top. She would become a supermodel, even if it meant selling her fucking liver on the black market.

People could live without a liver right?

Ino was the type of girl that made it big fast and fell down from her pedestal just as fast. She was aware that it never lasted long. Nothing in her dumb life had lasted. But as long as she was big, she would take anything that came to her afterwards. What did she care if she ended up in a seedy residence for the third age as long as she'd lived her twenties like a party-machine?!

Jumping down her stool, she slammed an obscene amount of money onto the counter and in a sway of hips walked passed all the gentleman that couldn't help eye-fucking her big time.

She smelled of _Oscar de la Renta_ , pulled along an outrageous _Louis_ _Vuitton_ suitcase, toted an adorable _Bottega Veneta_ clutch and was all in all a vision right out of Heaven, promising them all a hell of a ride they couldn't afford.

The flight to L.A. was just as uneventful. For fuck's sake, Yamaka Ino who hated the world's guts was fucking cheerful. She almost shoved her tongue down the taxi driver's throat as he picked her up. She helped him with the luggage. And she didn't care about the French manicure, one fucking bit.

Actually to say the truth, she was worried for her _Louis Vuitton_. Well, the thing was precious, ok?!

She all but jumped into the ugly, smelly, Jesusy (did she honestly have to look at a picture of the _Passion of the Christ_ in the middle of an L.A. taxi, wasn't there the _Church of Scientology_ against that shit?!) car and slammed the door shut with too much glee. Cue to Ino giggling like a high school cheerleader.

And all of a sudden, the palm trees in front of her ugly-ass building did not appear so plastic anymore. She could bear the horrible color of the walls. She was so close, to the point, she had the impression she smelled Hinata's cheap shampoo.

She all but ran out of the elevator as it stopped on her level. Pulling out her ridiculously expensive luggage, she made more ruckus than ever before, jumping all around with the conviction she had conquered the world.

Life was fucking great … at least so she had thought until she had entered her apartment. Fuck her; she had the impression of being in some Middle-Eastern warzone. Letting out an impressed whistle, she looked around, not noticing the obvious. The obvious being Hinata seated on their dumb mattress.

"The fuck happened here?! I have never seen so much dust; it looks like a fucking sheep herd. Like that big piece over there, we could fucking shear it …"

And that's when it hit her. Hinata was sitting on their dumb mattress. And instead of throwing out a cry of joy, topple her over and make out with her outrageously, Ino froze, every muscle in her body contracting. Yes, each and every one. That one too, if you know what I mean. Especially that one.

Lying right beside Hinata was a crumpled edition of the latest _Vogue_. With Ino's face on it. She stopped breathing as she examined Hinata. Her knees were up and she had placed her elbows on them. Her hands cradled her head while she blankly stared at the wall.

And of course, even if the bitch did not say a fucking thing, Ino knew. There would be some more cocksucking bitch'n'moaning and honestly, Ino had had her share of it during the runaway.

She would not take any shit from a chick that was making portfolios for unknown models that would end up like low-class porn actresses anyways.

Hinata, instead of getting vindictive or snivelling, just kept on staring at the fucking wall. Had her eyebrow not flared for an instant, Ino would've believed she had gone fucking catatonic. Like, what the fuck was that? She was going to sulk or ignore the shit out of Ino?!

"It's your fault."

Ino had spoken first because the only way she knew to snap Hinata's mouth shot was to attack first and nip the shit in the bud. Sure, she was being a backstabbing bitch playing on Hinata's weaknesses, however honestly she did not need any whimpering. She needed some Champaign, a huge _congrats_ from her wife and then getting down and dirty!

However, it seemed Hinata had decided that being stepped on before she had even had the opportunity to speak her mind would not function that evening. Instead of relaxing into doubt, her features contracted in an expression Ino had never seen.

At once, and for the first time ever, Hinata turned her head in an abrupt movement and stared at Ino as if she was about to jump to her fucking throat. Had Ino not been pretty hard herself, she would have taken a step back.

"My fault?"

Hinata's voice had been deceivingly soft, however the lack of stuttering did make Ino prepare for a deluge. Actually, fuck no! She had decided before she would not take any shit from her wuss of a wife.

Sure, she could admire that Hinata pulled herself a backbone out of the ass all of a sudden. However, too bad, bitch, Ino was not in a mood to have her perfect day screwed over.

"What the fuck did you expect, Hinata?! That I would wait for you to get your head out of your ass and land a photo-shoot?! Oh, please. I am the cover of _Vogue_, and don't give me any shit about the shot, while you are still doing the shit your boss doesn't want to. Like, you seriously fucking expected I would let this opportunity slide because you cannot understand how the cocksucking Industry works?!"

For an instant, Ino could've sworn she'd seen Hinata hesitate and doubt. However, it had lasted that, an instant, and not more. In fact, one second Hinata had seemed on the border of letting tears spill, the other she was standing up as if she had been pricked in the ass.

Before Ino had had the time to step aside, Hinata had hurled the magazine to her head and it whipped Ino right across the face.

"You sleazy crack-whore!"

Wait, woah, what the fuck!? Where the hell had Hinata come up with that?! She seriously needed to stop hanging out with the likes of low-class models. Ino was not going to take that. No, sir, no way!

"Sleazy crack-whore?! Rather be a successful crack-whore than a failure like you! Look at yourself, for fuck's sake, Hinata. You are a fucking mess. You've always been a mess, you fucking freak. The only reason you have not hung yourself in the closet by now is because of me. So you better give me the respect deserved, you bitch, unless you wish to end up in the streets giving blowjobs for a fucking cheeseburger."

Hinata and Ino had had fights. They had hurled shit at each other. In fact no, Ino had always been the one to hurl shit at Hinata, while Hinata had tried to calm her down by begging for forgiveness. Forgiveness for what?!

_Nuh-uh_. This was not going to end up with Hinata crying her eyes out again. She had nothing to reproach herself. Well besides the hysteria, because Hinata was becoming hysteric. Fuck softness, fuck niceness. This was going to get ugly and it would certainly not be Hinata's fault.

"Me ending up in the streets?! Hey, Ino, who is the person paying the bills around here?! Who is the person who maintained you for the last three years of your miserable life?! While you were out there giving blowjobs for less than a cheeseburger, I was the one working my ass off to make _YOU_ happen! I was the one that got you your first shooting! You wouldn't have made it passed the audition couch of some fucking porn producer without me …"

That got Ino to shut up. For the first fucking time in her life.

Hinata, her wife, her shy, stuttering Hinata was not the type to throw her generosity into anybody's face.

What. The. Hell. Was happening?! Yamanka Ino did not owe _anyone_. Like _no one_. And it was certainly not some snotty little high-class princess with no fucking character that would make her believe otherwise.

Before Hinata had the time to find shelter from the tornado that was threatening to wreck the room, Ino was right into her face, looking down at her and growling like Maru whenever he saw a cat.

"I don't owe you fucking nothing, are we clear?!"

And that is when it hit Hinata. She knew exactly what it was she had to say to get back at Ino for all the shit she had done to her since she went away two months ago. Oh, she would regret it.

Her brows relaxing, her shoulders slumping, Hinata raised her head ever so slowly and, through her bangs, stared right into Ino's beautiful, pale eyes filled with hatred and anguish.

Hinata, for the first time of her life, would let all her bottled-up rage explode. And Ino would be nothing but collateral damage.

With a voice venomously soft, she whispered for Ino barely to hear:

"It never occurred to me that you did not love me. But now I understand why it is that you so desperately fuck everything that moves and try to flaunt yourself on the covers of whatever magazine wants you. You believe that will give some worth to your miserable life. Of course you can't love anyone, because you don't even love your –"

Before Hinata could finish her little rant, Ino's fist had come in contact with the right side of her face. Losing balance, Hinata crashed head first against the wall behind her and slid down onto their mattress.

Her right eye felt as if it would explode and the bridge of her nose was completely numbed out.

Even if her ears were frenetically buzzing and blood was pumping in them, she heard a gasp and though her sight was blurry, she could swear that whatever it was that had stood in front of her (at that point, she could barely remember her age, let alone that she had gotten into a pretty violent fight with her wife) had moved away.

As she heard the door to their apartment being slammed shut, realization dawned on her. What had she done?! What had Hinata done?!

Bringing shaking hands to her swollen face, she took in a shuddering breath. Why did she have to … Hinata was filthy.

She was filthy. She was a monster. And Neji had seen it; he had seen that she was wicked, so he had hit her as well.

The first time, she had been twelve. He had not been like Ino. He had hit her a few times, hoping he would be able to pull the filth out of her. But he couldn't.

And here, after all these years, after being sure that she could be good to Ino, that it would not come back, she had been dirty again.

However, unlike with Neji, she had wanted to see Ino in pain. She had wanted to see Ino's tears. Hinata, who had never wanted anything besides being good to Neji, had been horrible to Ino.

As the words she had said to Ino came back to her mind, she started to shake. She had to go. Ino had gone away but she would come back and then it would start again. The violence, the hatred.

Ino had loved her until then, but maybe Neji had loved her too. And now? Now Ino would only shower her with disdain, not kisses anymore. Hinata had broken everything. Again.

She needed to go. Never again, she could not take what Neji had made her undergo again. This time, she was sure that she would not get her head alive out of it. She needed to go before Ino came back.

Jumping up from the mattress, she got entangled in her own feet and crashed to the ground, bruising her face some more. She rose to all four and scurried towards the entrance.

Kicking aside Ino's expensive luggage and ridiculous clutch (she hated that clutch with a passion, it was a real bad-luck charm), she pushed the door to the entrance closet open and started rummaging to pull out the old suitcase that Ino had always hated.

In no time, she had turned the whole apartment upside down (not that there was much to do) and found all her clothes and documents. Shoving them inside of the suitcase, she ran out of the apartment block in the middle of the night.

Too eager to get away, she did not take the precaution of locking the door. Because she was a bitch, obviously! Instead of protecting Ino's expensive things, she simply let the door unlocked and ran towards the elevator.

The neighbour's might have called the police by now. She could imagine her dear wife and her had caused enough ruckus for the whole building to hear them.

Before she could push the _up_ button by the elevator door, she got her attention distracted by the level indicator above it. Someone was coming down. She was coming back, Ino was coming back. And it would start anew.

_No_. Even with the luggage, Hinata decided to take the door by the elevator and walk up the stairs. She had no other choice.

With all the power left in her arms, and all her prayers directed to the whole Shintō pantheon, she pulled the luggage up, stair by stair, hoping that Ino would not have the idea to come after her … with a butcher knife.

It is only when the stinky air of the evening hit her face that she could take in a truly deep breath. Where now?! Where would she go now?! Kurenai? No, the woman had a little child. She could not bring her problems along with her to Kurenai's home.

Where would she head to?! The answer was obvious. She would go hide at Kiba's. But of course, she had not taken any money with her, beside her debit and credit card. And she could not see herself offering her credit card to a bus driver. He would personally kick her out of the bus.

The only option left was to walk during one hour and pull her luggage along, in the middle of the night. And that is what she did. Her eyes lowered, her hands convulsively grabbing her luggage, she pulled it along, ignoring the horrible feeling of being followed around.

However, for whatever reason, maybe because the divinities loved the sinful, she made it unharmed. Since she didn't have the magnetic card to enter the lobby of Kiba's building, she had to beg the skies for Shino to be home. She hoped to hell that he hadn't decided to pull an all-nighter at _UCLA_.

Pushing the button by his name, she nervously eyed the building's security guard, who just as nervously stared back at her.

'Come on, come on …'

'_What?_'

Shino.

"S-S-Shi – "

The stutter was back with a vengeance, but before she had the time to even say his name, the door was buzzing and she was scurrying in. Trying not to look like someone that had escaped from a car wreck, she tried to smile at the security guard that rushed to help her with the luggage.

She could see a glint of pity in his eye as he looked at the right side of her face. Ino had a mean punch, even if she looked like a doll. And Hinata could just imagine how she looked like. She must have sported the half-panda look at the moment, with the bruise going all the way down to her jaw.

As she was led towards the elevator, she felt the security guard squeezing her arm in some gesture of sympathy. There were some good people in the world.

She had not needed to knock or ring at Kiba's door, since Shino was standing in the doorway, waiting for her. As he ushered her inside and shut the door with the foot, she finally let weariness wash over her and all the tears she had tried to keep in just started gushing out.

Hinata had not escaped a car wreck. She was the fucking car wreck. She hadn't even realized that Shino had led her towards the couch and forced her to sit her ass down.

She was too overwhelmed by all the adrenaline that was still coursing through her veins to feel the glass of cold water that was being pushed into her hands, however Hinata grabbed it instinctively.

As Shino laid his hand on her shoulder, she relaxed slightly. Shino never got too close to her; he always kept a healthy distance between the two of them. He was a smart man and had seen right through her as soon as Hinata had walked into their apartment for the first time. He knew better that to get too close to something so filthy, she was sure of it.

And she was grateful to him. Even if she was disgusting and he knew so, he had squeezed her shoulder and brought her a glass of water. She didn't deserve it. In the light of what happened in the evening, Hinata had proven she didn't deserve even eating the dust on which normal people walked. But Shino did not care, he just kept his hand on her shoulder.

Hinata brought the glass to her lips and took a gulp out of gratefulness.

"We should call Kiba."

Kiba. _No_. She didn't want to call Kiba; she didn't want to have to tell him what had happened. Kiba was good to her; Kiba didn't know that she was a bad person. And she didn't want _him_ to know.

Even if she knew that she was pulling him towards sin, she hoped that by refraining from getting close to him, she could save their friendship.

Grabbing onto Shino's sleeve compulsively, she started shivering uncontrollably. A lump formed in her throat and hindered from begging. But he understood, he'd always known that Hinata was clueless. Clueless and lost.

Shifting his hand from her shoulder to her head, he patted the top of it. He was not one for great shows of affection and he had noticed that generally speaking, Hinata detested being touched too much. He had respected that, unlike Kiba.

"Go take a shower, Hina."

Saying so, he softly pried the glass out of Hinata's death grip. As Shino walked towards the kitchen, Hinata decided to follow his order to the letter and slowly made her way to the washroom.

As she let her clothes slide down her body, she did her best not to look at her reflection in the mirror. She hated the way she looked. She had always found herself obscene. At a young age, at least young for her, she had started developing in strange ways.

Her arms, shoulders, legs had remained as thin as stakes. The bones on her hips stood out menacingly and the bones of her collarbone were almost visible under her strained skin. And yet, on the upper part of her body, two heavy masses had developed like tumors.

And she hated them. Ever since they had appeared at age fourteen, she had hated her obscene breasts.

Sighing, she let the cold water of the shower flow before she stepped inside and shivered. She always showered with cold water; it numbed her down and she loved the feel of it.

She had to smile. There were three plastic soapboxes disposed side by side at one corner of the shower. A yellow one for Kiba, a green one for Shino and a violet one for herself. It felt as if she was living in a family. A normal family.

As soon as she was done with the shower, she had no qualms in grabbing Kiba's bath towel. She had seen him drying his butt with hers one time she had walked in on him … since he never freaking locked the bathroom door! Payback time!

Walking out of the washroom, she headed towards Kiba's, now hers, room. And in the middle of it, she found the old suitcase. Shino had had the good sense of bringing it to the room.

Slipping on clothes, Hinata wondered whether she should go and free Maru from the balcony. Shino had most probably locked him out again.

But before she could take a step forward, she collapsed on Kiba's bed and her last coherent thought was that she would have to wake up early to make breakfast before heading off to work.

**x.x.x**

And life had gone on. Kiba had come back from Australia and made a true mess of the situation. Well messier than it had been already. Matter of the fact was, Hinata had moved in permanently. She had actually been surprised by how easily it had all happened.

Somwhere in the darkest spot of her heart, she had hoped Ino would try to find her. Hinata had been torn between the eventuality of Ino appearing at the doorstep and at her disappearing from Hinata's life. Now that Ino had disappeared, she felt some type of hole in the middle of her chest.

There was not a day that passed without Hinata wondering how Ino was. Where she was Hinata always knew. She had come in contact with the most prominent people of the Industry working for Gaara Sabaku-No, and rumors was what made those people live. She knew when Ino went to the loo, for crying out loud.

However, she didn't care about the freaking shitter. As much as she did not want to admit it, it was Ino she cared about. She cried herself to sleep wondering whether Ino was doing better with her addictions, whether she was eating well and dressed appropriately. Because obviously, Hinata was her friggin' mother!

Of course, she did not know that Ino had tried to find her the best way she could. She had walked right into _Kurenai Yūhi_'s and begged for help.

Yes, Yamanaka Ino had fucking begged for help, in fact, she had been so strung up on coke and ravaged, that she had fallen to her knees and cried right there and then.

However, someone had warned Kurenai about it. In fact, it had been Kiba. As soon as he had pulled the story out of Hinata, he had called Kurenai warning her not to mess anything up. In fact, he had most menacingly described the yellow and green bruises he had found on Hinata's perfect skin when he'd come back. And Kurenai had been convinced.

As Ino had crumbled on her studio's floor, she had simply told her that Hinata had disappeared in the wild, maintaining she had found a new job. And honestly speaking, she had felt truly sorry looking at that tall, successful model that appeared in _Vogue_ every other day, on her knees in front of her.

But, Kurenai had understood that those dilated pupils and that haggard stare could bring no good to Hinata who, according to Kiba, did not want anything to do with Ino.

And so, Hinata had lived on in the belief that the Ino she admired in _Vogue_ was the real everyday Ino. Provocative, carnivorously self-satisfied and most of all, successful. She and Sasuke were the face of the day; in fact they had been for more than eight months now. And Hinata was sick, listening about it.

What had been anger at Ino's betrayal had become latent hatred towards Uchiha Sasuke. She could forgive Ino anything. Ino was _her_ Ino. They were both filthy, bathing in sin and could understand each other.

What she could not forgive was for Sasuke to have stolen everything she had ever had. Her wife, her art. Yamanaka Hinata hated for the first time of her life, and she had gotten strangely accustomed to that feeling. Like seven billion other people on the world.

Stumbling over the material that she had been pulling into the airport, she snapped out of her thoughts. Her boss' back was in front of her, Gaara's red hair glimmering in the morning light.

And of course, he wouldn't offer any help with all his precious material. Here she was, pulling along lighting material, because Gaara Sabaku-No only worked with his own material, his own cameras, flashes, lenses.

She needed to get her hands on a trolley … while not losing sight of the guy with the plane tickets … actually no, she had the plane tickets (he hadn't even bothered with credit card of plane tickets).

She could have never imagined a trip to New York to be such a complicated thing to pull off.

Everything about working for Gaara had been complicated.

He drank his coffee black, but not even the best black coffee from _Starbucks_ could satisfy him. She needed to buy goddamn Columbian coffee, brew it by hand, infuse it and then serve it to him. Six times a day. And that was the easiest part of her work.

She had been warned that he was violent. However, having almost been boiled alive as he had hurled the first coffee she had brought him, a _Starbucks_ Espresso, to her head had still been a shock to her.

And then, the no talking. He did not talk; hence she did not talk back.

She needed to guess each and every one of his thoughts. And what scared her the most is that, at least when it came to his photography, she was right on page with him.

It was as if they were communicating by telepathy. Or even worse, it was as if he had taken over her mind. Sometimes, she could swear she heard his voice in her head.

And she couldn't be more grateful to him. After two months of his fits, of him destroying beautiful photographs in his rage, and throwing cameras to the wall, she had learned more than during her lifetime reading specialized magazines and studying photographs.

Gaara Sabaku-No was a true artist. There was nothing more inspiring than looking at him weighing his cameras in his hand, caressing their lenses and zooming in.

Hinata often felt like he was capturing the soul of his subject and that whenever a model left his studio, she would leave behind a part of herself.

Hinata was in love with him. Not that way, geez. She felt as if she had never been connected more deeply to someone's art before.

In fact, Gaara the man was of no importance whatsoever, to Hinata he was nothing but a tool, nothing but a physical, material body that was meant to protect the very essence of Gaara the artist.

Had one asked Hinata how tall he were, or whether he had broad shoulders, she would have not been able to answer. In fact, beside his deep, impassive eyes, she had never taken a good look at Gaara.

As her thoughts wandered from the trolley to the idea of Gaara's hand holding his 35 mm, she didn't realize that he had stopped in the middle of the airport and turned towards her. And she had walked right into him, with all his gear on her.

"Shit."

And of course, she had been the lady to curse. Without stuttering, thank you very much.

And Gaara was fucking pissed. This girl had a way to make all the worst in him come out. For fuck's sake, did she have to space out every two seconds?! And here she was, carrying his shit like some donkey (why the hell didn't she have more class doing her job), and walking right into him.

As his eyes lightened with anger and his assistant's face took the color of a tomato, he simply extended his hand. The message should've been obvious. However, the only thing his extended hand got her to do was rummage through her things, trying desperately to shift his gear around without dropping it.

He was about to break her nose. And he would've done so had she not been … the most synchronized assistant he'd ever had. It was the first time that he worked with someone that was able to understand artistic directions without him having to open his mouth. She was simply the perfect slave, with no will, no ideas, ready for him to take over.

Sometimes, he had the impression he was being encaged in that body of hers, moving her arms, adjusting the lighting, straightening the clothes of models. It was if he was doing it by himself, that's how perfectly she worked. And had he had any sense, it would have scared him. But he had none and therefore took her for granted.

Hinata shoved a credit card and plane ticket into his palm, making sure to keep her head low. She could feel his wrath coursing through her own veins and she was sure that were she to raise her head, she would most probably need a very good plastic surgeon, one she could certainly not afford, to reconstruct her facial appendix.

It is only seated in the plane (Economy class of course, there was just so much Mr. Ritchy McRicherson would pay for his assistant), that Hinata could relax. Sure the seats were uncomfortable and she couldn't spread her legs out.

However, after having had spent forty-five minutes trying to explain to a security agent, with extra stuttering, that they were not planning a terrorist attack and that all the material she was bringing with her into the plane was nothing but photography gear, she was more than happy to bear through the lack of space for her legs.

The shooting they had in New York wasn't much different from what they did back in L.A. Sure, they had a huge studio with ridiculous decorations, since _Armani_ and Gaara had agreed on something like an industrial fairytale (whatever that implied) and there were at least four different _Armani_ art directors throwing orders at Hinata.

But, even if it was the first time she had went on location and meeting so many models and people at once, she felt secure, since she was working with Gaara. He was the one taking care of everything even if she was doing the job. If that made any sense.

She had not slept much, having spent the evening verifying each and every one of Gaara's cameras; she was all disheveled and had made more than one eyebrow rise at her apparition. Yet she had that unwavering conviction that everything would be perfect and she gave herself up to the feel.

As for himself, he was swearing under his breath, playing with lenses. He hated being surrounded by people. No, he hated being in contact with people. One person was enough to make him want to break something.

And here he was, being horded by dumb models, under the scrutinizing and nervous glances of mediocre artistic directors and overrepresented fashion assistants.

Bringing a 35 mm to his eye, he focused it towards the scene. At that moment, he got a glimpse of something moving on the side. Standing on a stool, his assistant was turning the lighting towards the scene. And that is when it happened. She revealed herself to him.

Gaara Sabaku-No had never been blind in his life. At least so he had believed until he had seen her (he had been looking at her for two months, for fuck's sake, and he saw her just now).

Standing on that stool, her hand softly stretched and her back as straight as an arrow, Hinata turned her head towards him for an instant. The movement of her head disrupted her heavy bangs and revealed her pale eyes to him for barely a second.

And that second would remain engraved in his memory forever. Her body had been fluid in its rigidity, her parted lips were sensual, full and inviting; but it was her eyes that brought to life the beautiful porcelain doll that Hinata Yamanaka became all of a sudden.

Her eyes were of a weird color, sure and Gaara couldn't care less. For all he cared, they could have been fucking piss yellow, that wouldn't have made much of a difference. It was their expression that attracted his camera towards her.

So sad. Broken. They shone like a shattered mirror. He had only once seen such eyes. And all of a sudden he became aware of the exquisite fragility of her neck, of the soft roundness of her chin. But what he became even more aware of was how she responded to him, to his unspoken orders.

As his camera zoomed into Hinata, he stalked her hand as it dropped from the lighting spot and her head as it turned to the side, giving him a good view of her profile. She obeyed him without even realizing. And then, the illusion was broken.

As models rushed to the center of the stage and fashion assistants ran after them, he felt the metallic taste of blood spreading over his tongue. The shooting all of a sudden lost its interest.

It was her, his assistant, that he wanted to flaunt under the lighting and possess in the only way he knew.

As she came to stand by his side, tired and weak, he felt all the violence he kept contained threaten to explode. It was towards Hinata that he wanted to turn his camera.

And yet, here he was trying to transform all these plastic, soulless dolls into _her_, when his assistant would have been perfect for the role.

Every time her fingers touched his as she passed him a loaded camera (since he was a dinosaur that still liked his films very much), a muscle in his jaw jumped. Every time she rushed towards the stage to turn the head of this or that model, replace the arm of another before Gaara had the time to let the devil in him loose, he felt deprived.

He wanted her. He knew Hinata could be the perfect replacement for _her_. For his mother. They had the same eyes. The same sad, broken, subdued eyes. And he wanted to see tears in them. He wanted to capture them forever, frozen and unchanging. Forever his.

As the shooting proceeded, he felt it more and more certainly. Gaara knew that feeling. He had felt it before towards his sister.

It was a type of feverous fixation he developed towards those women that could lead him closer to his mother. And the voice would come back.

The voice in his head would come back. Passing his camera over and grasping for another one, he knew that were he an intelligent man he would push away the cold fingers that innocently and unconsciously caressed his. The voice in his head would wreck him into pieces.

But he wanted it to happen. He needed it to happen. Gaara Sabaku-No wanted to hear the beast inside of himself roar and bring him to the edge over and over again, even if it meant returning to the hospital. And this delicate, broken porcelain doll would be the tamer of his beast.

All the models were surprised to say the least. They had expected to see the great Gaara Sabaku-No at least break someone's leg or arm. And what did they get? A mousy little assistant that whispered advice in a husky voice to their ear.

And for what it was worth, they took it and let her move their heads, arms, legs. They did as she told them and were only better for it.

Who the fuck was the artist between this weird, stuttering assistant and that brooding, absent photographer?! They had no idea, and did not care for a fucking instant. They had the unshaking belief they had done something right. Little did they know their good luck had nothing to do with them.

Since Gaara's hourly rate was outrageously exorbitant, the art directors were doing their best to speed up the shooting as not to go into overtime. But they knew better than to have a word with Gaara. It was Hinata they targeted with advice and demands. And she did her best to accommodate them, oblivious to Gaara's glares and the tremor at the corner of his mouth.

And eventually, they did wrap it up, to the relief of models, fashion assistants and art directors alike. And it had all been uneventful. There had indeed been rumors that Gaara had calmed down, however no one sane enough would've believed such shit. The guy was a cataclysm.

But his nervous, jumpy and hyperactive assistant had not given him the time to go nuclear on all of them. She had been everywhere at the same time, placing girls, turning around to look at his expression, evaluating the situation and changing whatever it was that made his impassible face … less impassible?

Whatever, she seemed to know him better than he knew himself … and count on the art directors and fashion assistants to spread around rumors that the little assistant had been found giving Gaara an outrageous blowjob in the fucking shitter.

Come on, it was all in jest … kinda, but not really.

And so, at the end of a horrible day, Hinata prepared to pack up after having thanked all the models, as well as she could with her tiny voice. She'd shaken some hands, exchanged smiles and received compliments in Gaara's name, since he obviously only wanted to snap someone's head off. And people felt it.

Before she could reach for the plug of one of the light spots, something grabbed onto her arm ant turned her around. And here he was, Gaara Sabaku-No. Barely five centimeters away from her.

Since Ino and her had parted ways, Hinata had become even jumpier around men. She had gone back to square one with Kiba, not even letting him pull her into a hug. In fact, she had become especially careful around Kiba. Kiba with his mocking brown eyes that twinkled whenever he looked down at her.

Nonetheless, here she was. Almost leaning into Gaara Sabaku-No, her boss, the psycho that had already almost set a girl on fire (at least, so said the legend).

Hinata was mesmerized by his deep eyes. She had that strange conviction that if she looked long enough she would reach their bottom and uncover all of Gaara's secrets.

And for the first time in four years, she truly looked at Gaara Sabaku-No.

She had seen him for the first time at age eighteen in Ino's subscription of _L.A. Magazine_, in Tokyo. His story had inspired her. She had been on the receiving end of him throwing things for two months. Four years that she knew about his existence.

And only now that he was saturating the air she was breathing with his expensive cologne, did she take a good look. And realize that the sinful Gaara Sabaku-No, whom she had caught more than once fucking girls in his studio, was stunning.

There was more to him than his eyes. His hair for one was of the color of wine when light beamed through it. His skin was a perfect nuance of bronze and inviting touch. As Hinata's heart started to beat faster, she realized that she wanted to touch him. For the first time in her life, she willingly wanted to touch a man.

Maybe because she knew that a man such as Gaara Sabaku-No could never be depraved, soiled, corrupted by a woman such as herself. He had already touched the bottom. She had seen him fuck, even if she would have preferred not to, and she knew that he bathed in depravity and immorality.

And now that she discovered Gaara with the eyes of a woman, Hinata could not deny that the scenes she had caught him in took a completely different significance to her. And the depravity and immorality he was offering became the most enticing perspective.

His thin lips moved in slow-motion and her eyes stalked them with something akin to desire. Had he only been able to look through her bangs he would have seen in that moment the invitation he craved for.

"Don't."

Never had a word made Hinata slam back to reality in a more violent way. And the spoiled, willful child that hid behind her pale eyes wanted to retort in all its arrogance:

'I want to.'

She had not noticed that Gaara's hand had been convulsively tightening its grip on her arm, but after he had spoken, she had immediately become aware of the pain and let a soft moan escape her. Had she only known what that unwilling, hurt sound did to him.

Reluctantly, he let go of her arm and passed by her to take care of his gear by himself. It is with shock that Hinata realized that this overly-entitled man actually really knew what he was doing.

He was much faster than herself when it came to disassembling his things and packing them up. He had wanted to go assistant-less a few months ago and Hinata had to begrudgingly admit that he might have been able to pull it off.

Snapping out of it, she busied herself with his flashes, lenses and cameras, carefully disposing them in their respective boxes. As she made a movement to recuperate whatever he had packed up, he simply swung his lightening material over his shoulder and exited by himself. She of course followed with his cameras and accessories.

Their trip back to the hotel was most uneventful, yet Hinata could not appease the knot that had formed in her stomach. Gaara was staring through the window of a real New York cab with the impassivity of a statue.

And Hinata leisurely analyzed his profile, taking snapshots with her eyes and committing to memory each and every detail. Like with Ino, there was something that spoke to her and goads her, only making her want to take out a camera and possess him the only way she knew.

Stepping out of the cab, they hurried passed the receptionist at the _Hilton_ and headed towards their respective rooms. Gaara had a suit, Hinata had the lowest class, and still expensive like shit, room one could get at the _Hilton_.

As she stepped inside, she just grabbed onto her unseemly backpack, verified her _IPhone_ to see whether someone from home had called. Of course, she expected to see Ino's phone number for a split of an instant (how the hell would Ino know anything about her new phone?!) and cursed at the phone.

She hated it. Gaara had thrown it at her the first day she had come to work, while at the same type pushing a _MacBook Pro_ and _Wacom_ drawing pad into her hands. These electronic leashes that he had purchased new (she wouldn't have minded some old cellphone with zero smarts, a _PC_ and some second-hand pad) had truly bruised her ego.

But the matter of the fact was that he wanted her to be working twenty-four seven. She had a _MacBook Pro_ loaded with useful programs and a phone on which he or any potential customer could reach her whenever needed. In fact, Gaara had a code, since he hated speaking … and texting.

Ring once? Get your ass over to the studio. Ring twice? Are the damn pictures ready, I am not paying you to sleep. Ring three times? Where the fuck is my coffee?!

And trust Gaara to ring night and day, to the point she had considered moving into an efficiency apartment closer to the studio than Kiba's place already was. She obviously couldn't afford it.

They met up in the lobby of the hotel and Hinata took care of all the finalizing details surrounding their leave. She handed back keys, laid signatures, paid a penalty for leaving so late, etc. As they left the hotel, she hailed a cab that almost hit her arm as it zoomed by her and abruptly braked. Welcome to the _Big Apple_.

She couldn't thank the Lord enough for having made Gaara's inner psycho go to sleep and permitted for his conscience to take over and make him carry around the lighting gear. Hinata's back and shoulders were a mess, seriously.

When they were finally back to L.A., she let a sigh escape her. It was late in the afternoon and she had forgotten to mention a detail to Gaara. And she was shaking to do so at the moment. He would go thermonuclear on her.

The best thing was to wait for it until they were seated in his _Bentley_, since Gaara was a careful driver and would not endanger his precious life for the pleasure of taking hers. He would wait, giving her some extra minutes of life to enjoy.

But as they got out of the airport and headed towards the parking lot, the L.A. climate decided to welcome them back with a violent, unexpected and unwelcome shower. And of course, just to make sure to annoy Gaara a good deal before getting her head chopped off, Hinata had to let out a series of high-pitched cries. Gaara fucking hated noise, let alone shrill noise if any type. Yes, he hated that type too, if you know what I mean. Especially that type.

As they slid inside of his car, they were sure to wreck the perfect leather seats. One hundred percent pure Scandinavian bull leather. However, it was nothing but a _Bentley_, hence he didn't feel any qualms trying to pass the lighting gear from the front to the back, and doing so almost piercing the roof of the car.

Had it been a _Lamborghini_, he might have treated it with more consideration, but Gaara wasn't a car guy.

As they shot out from the parking lot and Gaara's attention was solely and completely focused on the road, Hinata ventured a glance at his expression. He didn't appear more annoyed than the usual, which was very annoyed for normal people. However, there was no rage, which was good news.

Taking in a deep breath, she fixed a point on the horizon and tried to pass over her tongue and just spit out what she had to say.

"Uhm … S-S-Sir, it w-w-will be impossible f-for us t-t-to d-d-develop the films t-t-tonight since the r-r-red light in the l-l-lab is broken and the replacement hasn't arrived y-y-yet …B-B-But, I c-c-can t-take care of the n-n-numerical copies and have t-them r-ready b-by t-tomorrow."

Okay, now she could die. She was ready. She had ridiculously stuttered her way through her last confession. And called Gaara _sir_ … well, better that than Mr. Sabaku-No! She couldn't surely call him by his little name.

Hinata left no testament behind, but she had cooked enough food for the guys to survive an extra two days (as long as they remembered how to use the oven to heat it up), by that time they would find a way to survive.

However, as she had expected, Gaara's attention remained focused on the road and had he not clicked his tongue in disgust, she would have bet he hadn't heard. But he had … and what the fuck was wrong with him?! Something must have crawled up his ass for him to be so passive since their photoshoot.

He had not thrown a thing, not gotten into a model's face. He had even been nice, as horrible as that concept sounded when applied to Gaara. He had carried all the heavy gear back leaving Hinata to fuss over the cameras and other smaller accessories.

And then, just to make matters worse, at the first occasion he got, Gaara made his car do a violent U-turn and resumed driving in the opposite direction. She was done for. He would drive her somewhere where he could get rid of her body.

As she shot him a panicked glance, Gaara turned his head to her and scrunched his nose ever so slightly, making cold sweat travel across her spine. He was not mad. He was beyond pissed.

And yet, it had to happen again. As he looked at her, at the way her lips parted to gasp, he could barely refrain himself from braking and transforming the inside of his car into a shooting scene. And he wasn't thinking about firing a bullet into Hinata's head.

As desire (well ok, more like imperious need) again coursed through his veins, he tightened his hold on the steering wheel and simply ignored her appalled glance.

Well, what did she want him to tell her?! He fucking wanted his films developed. Right away! Numerical was for the magazines, analogical was for him.

Ever heard of the concept of instant gratification? Gaara lived by it.

As Hinata sank into her seat, she realized she was the perfect scapegoat. Well, welcome to Earth, girl. How about remembering your high school days?!

Turning her head towards the window, Hinata leaned her forehead onto the cold glass. Not caring much whether she would leave forehead grease on the _Bentley_'s perfectly clean windows.

Her psycho-boss, her _gorgeous_ psycho-boss, would cold-bloodedly murder her; she could leave some forehead grease on his windows, for crying out loud. Did window grease have DNA, or anything else the police could go _CSI Los Angeles_ on?

Eventually, the car did slow down in front of what seemed to be your average gate and as the gate pulled aside it revealed a courtyard in front a nice medium-sized, two-storied house. It wasn't your fancy Beverly Hills mansion.

Obviously, it must have been expensive, as anything else around L.A., but that was the type of house successful lawyer would have purchased. Not exactly what you expected some rich ass to live in. But then again, it was better than the bungalows most photographers lived in.

The car drove into a dark garage and Hinata stopped breathing. This was it, girl. She was quite sure that Gaara would turn to her, put those beautiful hands that caressed cameras and models alike (or broke their nose) around her neck and squeeze tight. Because of a red light bulb.

He decided otherwise however, and stepped outside of the car, walked around it and opened the door for her. He was being a gentleman. Before he chopped her into pieces and buried her remains in his backyard. Well, Hinata would not make it easy for him.

He looked at her stubbornly refusing to take a step out. She even fucking started to tremble. What the fuck was it with this chick?!

She screwed him up by not having made sure they had the appropriate light bulbs in stock; she made him carry the lighting material when it was her job to do so and here she was looking at him as if he were some murder.

As wrath washed over him, he grabbed the camera cases with one hand, her arm with the other and violently pulled her outside of the car. And finally, she understood why it was that people needed to wear seatbelts.

Gaara was so full of rage that he did not only pull a wet and shivering Hinata out of the car, but also into his house, through the hallway and towards what seemed to be an enormous living room of sorts, all in windows.

She stumbled more than once and whimpered at the pain that coursed through her arm. However, Gaara did not seem to care and as soon as he released her, she fell to her knees. Raising her head, she was welcomed by darkness and could not make out the furniture in the living room.

Through tasteful French doors though, she saw what must have been the backyard, dimly lighted. In fact, as Hinata's eyes focused out of fright, she noticed that the lights in the backyard must have been directly coming from a pool.

And all of a sudden, all her senses became attuned to her surroundings. Fear did not leave Hinata, however the adrenaline was hijacked and instead of going to her legs it went directly to her eyes.

The dim light filtering through the French doors brought a strange sense of tranquility to her, and had Gaara not chosen that moment to turn on the lights, she could've slipped into a state of agreeable apathy.

But of course, Gaara's first job in life was to make Hinata's miserable and uncomfortable. And as the lights turned on, Hinata gasped in utter shock. On all the walls of the living room, there were photographs. In one movement, she was up and staring all around her.

Thousands and thousands of photographs. In fact, one had the impression they had been plastered all over the walls. Frenetically trying to escape all the eyes that stared right at her, Hinata turned her head from one side to the other until she met one pair of eyes that stood out.

Gaara's. But what was different about them was not the color, no. The color was the same. The only difference where the dark circles that rimmed his. But the color, it was the same. The same pale, ever so pale, aquamarine color.

In fact, as Gaara stood in contrast to the pictures, she found herself comparing him to them. While still being in shock. Hinata had a short attention lapse that way.

All the pictures presented a young woman. A beautiful young woman, with vine-red hair, an oval visage and big, sad, broken aquamarine eyes. Thousands (ok, well a hundred at least) of pictures, all different, all beautiful, professional of this one woman, but in all of them, her eyes were unchanging.

And Gaara standing there, looking at Hinata with those same eyes. However, his were not broken and sad. His were vindictive, challenging and full of hatred. His face was not oval, it was triangular. With the woman he shared eyes and hair, the rest was completely different.

And the way he looked at Hinata made her want to shrink back against a wall, right against all these photographs, as if they could shield her from him. Or even better, she wanted to throw herself at him, for she discovered herself in him. They were mirror images.

He was obsessed with this woman while she was obsessed with him. He collected pictures of her, as she collected pictures by him.

Here they were, both of them standing, facing each other. An obsessive, sinful psychopath facing another. But the shivers that took over Hinata's body broke the charm and got Gaara, who was in the same state as herself, wet and cold, turn away and walk out of the living towards another hallway.

Obviously, Hinata did not know whether to follow him or to stay put. Therefore, she stayed behind, looking at her boss retreating. At some point, he opened a door and turned on a light without entering it. He continued towards a staircase and disappeared to the second level.

She had no idea how long he left her, however her artistic side had been taunted with all the pictures and got her to examine as many as she could. A professional model obviously.

A few years back she had read something about Gaara's mother, a Spanish supermodel that had hung herself in her walk-in closet. Arantxa No, that had been her name. She had been huge, special. Young. So young.

She had been seventeen, at the beginning of her career, when she had run away with an Egyptian tycoon, three times older than herself. And twenty-two, when she'd committed suicide. They'd found her hanging between her expensive _Chanel_ suits.

Looking at her made Hinata nostalgic for the old times, when minimalism hadn't been the word and everything had been about extravagance. Each and every one of the pictures was about the _more_, _more_, _more_.

As Gaara reappeared, Hinata instinctively took a step back. Ok, what the hell was she doing in that guy's living room, staring at what she believed to be his mother (since it obviously wasn't Temari)?!

Before she had the time to mentally answer that question, something was thrown at her and fluttered in the air. Clothing. Women's clothing. Nightwear. Satin.

As Hinata's hand grabbed onto it, he simply walked away once again, motioning with his head to the door he had previously left open. And as soon as he was come, he had disappeared up the stairs. Again.

Holding them between two fingers, she raised the dress and matching robe to her eyes. What the fuck was this? What did it mean?! Where the hell did Gaara get the idea that he could throw the forgotten rags of chicks he fucked?!

Ok, steady now, little lady. The voice in her head was getting hysterical. And let's be frank, the way her lips were numb and her teeth clunking, she couldn't try and make anyone, least of all herself, believe that she wasn't due for a change of clothes.

But why the hell did Gaara need to give her such flimsy material and have her prance around in nightwear?! Didn't he have enough tail already?!

And strangely enough, for whatever irrational reason, Hinata did walk towards the light in the hallway to discover a tiled, snobbish bathroom (all bathrooms were snobbish, unless they were public). She had this conviction he was not after her … at least not in that way.

She either had a death wish or was completely delusional. Yet, she did close and lock the door behind her.

But, she would not look into the mirror. She would not. And of course she did. Leaning onto the sink, she got as close as possible to the glass and looked at the messy, wet, haggard girl that was staring back at her.

Pushing her bangs aside, she shrunk back as her pale, ugly eyes glared at her. With shaking hands, unable to turn her head away, she undressed and examined each and every one of her movements in the mirror. Her skin was ashen, her hair tangled in heavy ropes and her lips blue as if frozen.

Once completely naked (she was soaked to the bone), Hinata gave herself one last, horrified look. Here she was, in her boss' bathroom, a boss that had driven her on impulse to his house and thrown the nightwear of what must have been one of his lovers at her.

And instead of having her mousy instincts kicking in, she had unshakable belief that no harm would be done to her. Something must have been wrong with her. But she knew as much already.

As she slipped the shimmering champagne satin of the nightgown over her head, she realized that it certainly was too tight in the upper region. Well, what the hell do you expect when you have milk-machines instead of breasts glued to your chest?!

The robe followed and she did her best to adjust it to hide as much of her curves as possible. There wasn't much to be done in that department. Certain things were a little too obvious. And since she was not one to flaunt her attributes, Hinata did not want to step out of the damn bathroom.

And of course, she did. Because worse than the fear of being looked at and examined, there was the fear of having Gaara kicking the door in and grabbing her by the arm the way he had previously.

Before stepping out, she shoved panties and bra in the leg of her jeans. In no time, they were hanging on the door of the shower, along with her shirt.

As soon as she was out, she walked back towards the living, knowing full well he waited for her. And indeed he was there. He had changed in something more tasteful than what she was wearing. He looked dressed at least.

Handling his precious cameras, he was taking out the memory cards and tossing them onto his black leather couch with something akin to disgust. He hated numeric, if you haven't understood by now. That was a part of the job he left for Hinata to struggle with. What the fuck had he bought her a _Mac_ for?!

Raising his head from his work, he was welcomed by a sight he had not expected. Bangs pushed back, a flushed and panting (someone was having an anxiety attack again) Hinata was eerily staring at him.

And he could not refrain from comparing her to the pictures of his mother that were disposed all around him. The same eyes, she had the same eyes as his mother. Not the color, not the form, but the expression. The same sad, adoring and softly sensual glimmer. And the same eeriness.

And it did happen. He had known it would happen, when he had seen her in New York standing on the stool. She was bringing the beast back to life. Before he had the time to prepare himself, he heard the voice that had left him for years now.

'_She too will leave you; you know she will leave, Gaara. We need to make her stay._'

Bringing his inexistent eyebrows together, a crease formed itself on the top of his nose and made Hinata take a step back. She wanted to leave.

It had taken Gaara years to be able to understand that the voice in his head was not part of reality, or better to say that it was his brain that was unable to draw a barrier between the exterior world and Gaara's inner world.

Of course, medication had helped him a lot. He had taken his treatment as seriously as could be expected from a man that had never much to say during therapy ('cause he doesn't speak, y'know). And the voices had subdued and his talent had faltered.

He had truly been a photographer of exception when he had had that tempting demon to tell him what to do. But since he had started taking the medication two years ago, he had felt himself slipping into mediocrity.

And here it came back. For now it was barely making it through the haze that his medication created, however he knew it, it would be back in a vengeance.

Gaara's eyes shone dangerously and at once Hinata regretted having thought she would make it out safe. This man was a psychopath and it was written nowhere in her contract that she had to come to his house. But that was part of the work of an assistant as well. Not getting fucked or killed, but humoring Gaara. And what if humoring him meant getting fucked or killed?! What then?!

But it disappeared, the gleam that is. It had only lasted a second. Enough to make the hair on the back of Hinata's head stand … and her nipples harden. And obscenely show through the flimsy fabric of the sating robe. For fuck's sake.

But obviously Gaara wasn't interested since he only motioned towards the cameras disposed on a glass coffee table and went back to the hallway.

Gotcha. Taking all the cameras and letting them hang from her arms, she followed him, shooting a look at where all the memory cards were. She would have to recuperate those before leaving.

How she would leave was the question. Since she couldn't believe her charming boss would be accommodating about driving her back. But it soon would be day anyways and she doubted she would get one off. She wasn't working for a boy scout, unfortunately.

As they reached the stairs, Gaara walked down to what must have been the basement. Hinata did not like the dark and hesitated until Gaara turned on a light. She still had the possibility to run away. But of course, since she had a morbid mania for danger it seemed, she walked down following him.

And … wow. So, he had converted his enormous basement in a photo-development laboratory. And finally, everything made sense. He wanted them to develop the films. Is all.

Gaara was obsessive about his films, she had noticed that previously. He didn't like to wait for it. He didn't actually like to wait for anything. As that thought sunk in, Hinata felt all the fibers of her body relax.

Cheerful, she looked around, cataloging everything they would need to spend the next few hours (tens of hours), working through Gaara's shots. Hinata needed to get everything perfectly set before they turned on the red light. She couldn't wait for the elimination process. Her favorite.

She felt as if Gaara trusted her in those moments. He let her go through all his shots and select the good from the bad before he, himself, finalized his choice. And he had never doubted her eye, never asked to see the shots she had put aside.

Had Hinata been more careful, she would have noticed the way a spasm shook Gaara's face as he stared at her jumping around from side to side, going through his cupboard full of chemicals. He could not tear his gaze away from her.

She was so alive. Breathing, running, smiling. Just like his mother had been. And so young. They were the same age or almost.

'_She too will leave you; you know she will leave, Gaara. We need to make her stay._'

He needed to make this one stay forever. _He_ needed to, not someone else. Before he had the time to snap out of it, his hand had seized one of his reserve cameras he knew was loaded.

As the black-haired woman bent over to pour liquid into a shallow basin, he brought the camera to his eye, unable to fight the urge. She was too delicate, insubstantial. And she would disappear in an instant.

'_She will leave us. Gaara, don't let her leave us._'

_Click_. Again and again. The little, aggressive sound made her turn around in horror and behold, shit! She froze. No.

She was not Ino; she did not want to face that black, sanguinary beast that would tear her into pieces. She was not a paper doll, a beautiful object to be looked at and give sad girls on the other side of the world something to dream about.

"No."

The shriek of horror filled the basement and reverberated on all the metallic material.

"Don't look at me."

Hinata could not hinder the screams of a wounded animal escaping her. However since the beast did not feel an ounce of pity of her and kept on threatening her, she no choice but run for it.

Throwing herself in front of the camera, she attempted to make way beside Gaara. As she ran towards the stairs, time seemed to slow down. He turned her head as she arrived to his height. She did so too and their eyes met.

His were so deep, cold, like a frozen sea. Hers were glistening like a diamond, blazing with excitement and fright. He was the hunter; she was the prey.

Hinata scurried up the stairs, losing footing and almost rolling back down. Her shin just got busted big time. But, clawing the wooden stairs with her small fingernails, she did manage to go up on all four, listening as the hunted animal that she was to Gaara's footsteps following her slowly.

The light at the end of the hallway was her only hope and she rushed towards it. However, the multiple pairs of aquamarine eyes that waited for her in the living room had as only effect to disorient her some more.

Turning on herself, Hinata was sure she would faint in the middle of those cruel eyes, the same that tried to capture her soul with that damn camera. Rushing towards the French doors, she grabbed onto the knob and frenetically tried to unlock them.

Gaara was standing behind her, the camera still in his hand. She didn't even hear him breathe, as if he were some ghost. At the moment she sensed him, the doors burst open and she fell forward. Her naked foot caught into the satin of the nightdress and as Hinata went flying, the last thing she saw were the eerie lights that had attracted her attention before.

The pool was lighted from within. And it is its blue embrace that welcomed Hinata and pulled her to the bottom.

…

**A/N (22/08/14)**

**An enormous, huge, elephant thank you to Tintanglia In Flight, who took the time to point out the mistakes she found in a freakin' 27 000+ long chapter. I felt like she took a bazooka and shot love at my fic, right then, right there. I owe you a bear hug, some homemade dinner, beer and then some. **


	4. Bitches like it rough

**A/N**

_**IMPORTANT**__**:**_**No updates**** for the next ****4 months****. The story is ****not**** on ****hiatus****. It will be taken up again as soon as my finals are over in December.**

**In the meantime, we will be planning our upcoming fic. OUR as in SabakuNoAnjel's and mine.**

**It will be either a GaaraHinataMadara or a GaaraHinataSasuke. And it will be called ****The Demon King's Lullaby****. You'll all want to read it.**

**A huge thank you to all my reviewers: Black Rose Wilt, CoocooKachoo (why don't you have an account so I can shower you with PMs), Guest, SabakunoAnjel, Lovehinata29, misao97, Dotchi 13, Tintaglia in Flight, Gangnam Style X3, Russia Psycho and LittleEcho12.**

**I just want to cuddle you guys and force-feed you affection, love and cupcakes (that SabakuNoAnjel will be stuck baking, obviously). People, the reviews are getting longer and more inspirational every time. If I could frame them and hang them in my future office, I would. **

**A special thank you to TintangliaInFlight who went through the 27 000+ words of the last chapter, picked up and corrected my mistakes. That is what I call being committed to excellence. **

**All my love to those who favorited and follow the fic. You guys are the best and make The Glam Show feel absolutely loved. As for my amazing PMers, I promise to finally answer all your hands-down wonderful messages.**

**Finally, now that I am off for 4 months, you have no more excuses not to go read and review SabakuNoAnjel's fics. Let's go people! I want to see some love.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto.**

…

**The Glam Show**

_Chapter 4_

Bitches like it rough

_By _

_Voyna_

Leaning in towards the mirror of her vanity, Hinata tried to apply as uniformly as possible the industrial foundation she had gotten from one of her "friends" (money has this way of getting you friends _presto_) at _M.A.C._

There honestly wasn't much you could do when violet, almost black, streaks covered your neck. Gaara had gone into one of his fits of rage again and Hinata had truly thought, as she did every time he came after her ass, that she was breathing her last breath. Or not, there is no breathing involved when someone attempts to strangulate you.

But it wasn't a personal thing he had against her, she knew. So she forgave. Every time.

It was just his personality. When he got pissed at her, he would hit her, pull her hair, twist her arms, kick her ribs. In six months, she had sustained a sprained wrist, a fractured rib, a minor concussion, many blows to her face and the likes.

However, one thing she was thankful to him for was that he never aimed for her nose or her eyes. He very precisely hit her cheekbones. It was much easier to cover the bruises that way. Try applying six centimeters of foundation around an eye. Good luck with the clogging and sticking.

As well, he had whipped her with a cable once, however only the lower body. His dislike for _Photoshop_ made him careful not to aim for any parts he knew he wanted to shoot naked. Gaara Sabaku-No was all about the precision punishment. He would have been the _Marquis de Sade_'s rival had they lived in the same period.

In fact, if you asked Hinata, once she got accustomed to the frightening expression of his eyes, since he obviously enjoyed punishing her; all those blows had become trivial. She provoked them because of her incapacity to satisfy his artistic desires, not because she was a bad girl.

And she always managed to find a way to make him happy in the end, unlike with Neji and Ino.

A happy Gaara was just as intense as an unhappy one.

When Gaara was satisfied, he showered her with attentions. Instead of pulling her hair and banging her head on a wall, he hunched down and passed his hands through her locks. He caressed her with much care, the same care he took when his temper flared not to bruise what he considered her greatest assets.

Gaara would pass his forefinger over her eyebrows, before sliding it on the side of her face and carefully tracing her lower lip. He often cupped her cheek when his mood was at his best and those moments, she knew a new photograph would be hung in her bedroom.

And she hated those instants. She tried to satisfy him, but never to make him ecstatic. When a picture made him ecstatic (not that you could make the difference between unhappy or ecstatic Gaara only based on facial expressions), Gaara would lock himself with it in the basement for days, leaving Hinata, who had become banned from working, on the first and second floor to care for the house and make dinners no one would eat anyways.

And once a perfect picture was developed because of his care, he would bring it up on the second floor, enter Hinata's bedroom and hang it where there was place.

She honestly had enough fucking eyes staring at her. She had his black-rimmed ones; the depressing aquamarine ones in the living room and now her own ghostly eyes waiting for her morning and evening.

But he had an obsession with the idea of her looking at herself. He would barge into the middle of the night and demand (because it seemed that he was able to place words one after the other after all) for her to look at herself.

_Look at yourself_, he would say. And if she hesitated or refused, she would be left with a busted lip as a weeping mess on the floor. He had trained her well to obey each and every one of his commands. Hinata maintained she obeyed only because she detested the taste of blood on her tongue.

'This will do.'

She wouldn't be able to conceal more of the marks; they would remain slightly visible under the foundation.

Gaara might go thermonuclear on her. That was a risk she was willing to take. Since she had no other fucking choice.

He was very particular about looks. A woman had to be at her best twenty-four seven, according to him at least.

The mediocre, free-balling, low-class strippers of _Femen_ would have fantasized about cutting off his testicles and brandishing them as a trophy had they known Gaara.

As soon as he had discovered Hinata's "potential", all the intellectual esteem he had held her in had been thrown through the window.

From choosing the worthy photographs that Gaara would keep Hinata's job had been downgraded to that of being the face on the photographs he would keep or discard, as he saw damn well fit.

He didn't ask her to take care of his lighting, _photoshop_ the pictures to be sent to magazines (since he hadn't taken up any accounts for six months now) or develop anything. He rented photography assistants on location and that suited him just fine.

Of course, she was being a spoiled brat, feeling she had been downgraded and whatnot.

She was the girl that had a rich _business partner_ whose personal shoppers at _Sack's Fifth Avenue_ and _Neiman Marcus_ sent at least six bags full of clothes and shoes every week.

She had a fucking walk-in closet that was twice as big as her old apartment. And a washroom adjoining her room. Her own personal Victorian-style washroom. The tub had those ridiculous paws and was covered in gold motives. Come on.

And he took her dumb ass all over the world. She had seen South Africa, Brazil, Greece, Russia, France, Spain, Germany, Italy, Sweden, England, Ireland … fucking Iceland! In six damn months.

Gaara had taken her to see a new ballet every evening in Moscow and she had visited every Greek island there was. She wanted to visit fucking Mongolia? She just had to tell him, and the next day they would be in Ulan Bator.

Hell, he would be able to make Atlantis reappear from the depths of the Seven Seas just for her to go do some shopping on Seahorse Avenue or whatever.

And here was Hinata, bitch'n'moaning about the few ugly marks he left on her neck and the fact he had relegated her to the rank of pretty object.

Sliding from her stool, she passed her perfectly slick hair through a band, careful not to scratch her just as perfect manicure. Gaara had given her back the life she had had with her father. The luxury, the style, the class. With Gaara she could have it all.

What she had desperately tried to escape running away with Ino was back with a vengeance. And she fucking hated it, obviously.

Hinata had an aversion for this type of care. And guess what, she was more cared for (in that very way she detested) than she had ever been, surrounded by only the best and treated as if she were some _Ming_ vase ready to disintegrate any instant now.

Had she not known better, she might have thought that through those blows that her face took, Gaara loved her. In a weird, sick and cold way.

He touched her, yet there was no heat between them. No desire.

He had seen her naked more than once. He had undressed her with his own hands and beheld every inch of her. And that's it. There had been nothing besides his camera raping her intimacy and throwing it back at her.

As Hinata turned around, she got a view of the big, poster-sized photograph that hung above her _California King_ bed (_King_ was not enough for Californians, they always needed bigger, like Texans with their cars). The photograph that had started it all.

A young woman with eerie white eyes was staring back at Hinata. She was clad in what seemed to be a champagne-colored satin dressed that did little to conceal the sensual curves and trenchant edges of her body.

One would have mistaken her for a water nymph, with that long black hair swimming like venomous snakes around and her blind eyes set on fire by ghostly lights coming from the depths of the sea.

Who would have thought that that photograph had been taken after Hinata had clumsily slid into Gaara's pool? While trying to escape him. As he chased (well ok, he didn't run, he just creepily appeared behind her back, here and there) after her with a camera.

Thinking back, she just felt like grabbing the perfect, heavy sterling frame and throwing it out the perfect window of the perfect room she woke up in every perfect fucking day.

This was not what she had wanted. This certainly was not the life she had ever desired for herself. And even with all this _stuff_ thrown at her, she felt so empty, so used and cold. But she had had no choice.

Gaara had been the only light she'd seen at the end of the tunnel.

**Flashback**

The light at the end of the hallway was her only hope and she rushed towards it. However, the multiple pairs of aquamarine eyes that waited for her in the living room had as only effect to disorient her some more.

Turning on herself, Hinata was sure she would faint in the middle of those cruel eyes, the same that tried to capture her soul with that damn camera. Rushing towards the French doors, she grabbed onto the knob and frenetically tried to unlock them.

Gaara was standing behind her, the camera still in his hand. She didn't even hear him breathe, as if he were some ghost. At the moment she sensed him, the doors burst open and she fell forward. Her naked foot caught into the satin of the nightdress and as Hinata went flying, the last thing she saw were the eerie lights that had attracted her attention before.

The pool was lighted from within. And it is its blue embrace that welcomed Hinata and pulled her to the bottom.

The robe that covered the satin nightdress became heavy with water and did not permit for Hinata to flail her arms in a desperate attempt to save her miserable life. Adrenaline hit her system and panic settled in.

It was said that people could drown in one meter of water, as long as the fear was strong enough to paralyze them. And sure enough, she wasn't thinking of trying to find a support for her feet and push herself out of the water. She was thinking of nothing in fact.

Was that how people died? In three meters of water, desperately flailing (or not, in this case) their hands while thinking of nothing? Fuck death seriously.

As strength started to leave her and her legs and arms went limp, the robe softly slid off her shoulders and down her arms. Come on, Hinata, one last effort. But she couldn't … and didn't want to.

The lights coming from the depths of the pool were so beautiful, inviting and their embrace was soft once you forgot how cold the water was. Call her a quitter, if you wish.

But before she could go _emo_ on her own ass and think of a great obituary no one would write in her honor (Kiba wasn't exactly what one could call poetic or even good with words), someone grabbed onto a good portion of her hair and violently jerked her head out of the water.

And cue to her lungs filling with air. Because she had forgotten an important fact about underwater death. You can't die if you have oxygen in your lungs. You can faint and release it, true. But until you fainted, you were stuck being very much alive.

Well, gee whizz, excuse her for not having just opened her mouth wide for chloride to enter her lungs. Chloride was carcinogenic, hello.

Once the water had stopped running over her eyes, she could focus on whom it was that was painfully holding onto her hair. Gaara of course, because FYI, it was in his pool that she had _almost_ drowned. After he had chased her with a camera.

And fair enough, the camera was still in his hand. However, he did not seem to want to go through a round of shots at the moment, staring at her with utter, absolute wrath.

And she could only imagine the thoughts that cursed through his mind (because Hinata being the sane woman that she was, was thinking about what it was that Gaara was thinking about, not thinking that maybe such thoughts were a little out of place).

Something along the lines of her soaking in his perfectly sterilized (she could imagine him having integrated UV rays to cut short the swimming lessons of bacteria) pool and contaminating it with her humanness.

As adrenaline wore off and the feeling of coldness came back, Hinata snapped out of her delusional musings to realize that she had almost lost her life only thirty centimeters from the edge of the pool. Since obviously, Gaara had not entered the pool to save her ass but was kneeling in front of her. On concrete, as in solid ground.

Realization was a bitch. And cue to her turning red like a boiled lobster. This was so terribly embarrassing. And mortification took over fright. At least all his snapping shots of her (when she hated the very idea of lenses ever being turned her way) was out of the picture.

Tentatively, as if worried he would have to call the police to announce some idiot has slid into his pool and drowned (with him watching and enjoying the show), he let her locks slide through his fingers.

Of course, he kept his eyes on her while walking towards where the stairs for her to get out were. And since Hinata was not incompetent enough not to know how to swim once calmed, she followed him in the water.

Only as she felt the metallic coldness of the first step on the skin of her soles could she say that she had felt real relief. Taking another step, she raised her head, with her heavy hair still pulling her down and swimming all around her.

Her eyes met his. And everything started all over again. The mutual seduction.

Before she had the time to divert her eyes, blush and fidget (good luck with the finger-pushing thing she had going on, her fingers wouldn't feel being snapped in two at the moment), she was being drawn in.

Standing above her, his hair lighted by … whatever, she had no idea where the light came from, but it did damn well ignite his hair like fire, and watching her with that deep, furious glare, Hinata could have sworn she was looking at a vengeful angel.

Or a demon that had come for her soul. For the filthy, corrupted soul of a voluptuous sinner.

And she wanted to sin with him. She was attracted to it, to the sin that he was offering. Fascinated with it. Starved for it.

In Gaara's world, there was no free comradery, no tributes of love. There was only him and his immoral art. The immoral love for little girls whose intimacy was exposed to the world. That was what she wanted.

Not as a model, but as a photographer. She wanted him to suffuse her with his essence.

However, his thoughts did not exactly come to the same conclusion as hers. As he let himself sink deeper into the blankness of the girl's eyes, he realized that he did not want her as he had expected.

He _needed_ her. As he needed the air he breathed. If he did not possess her, he would never have peace of soul. This assistant of his would make art come alive. She would be the moving, breathing, living photograph of a woman.

And he would take her and possess her. One good photograph would be enough to satisfy him.

As the voice that he had thought to be gone came back with a vengeance whispering sweet ideas to his ear, he could not refrain from raising his camera a last time to his eye. One last time, and then he would let her go. He promised himself he would not listen to his primal desires.

He could not let the beast inside of himself take control of his life again. But, he needed her, or at least a copy of her, forever with him.

And she was willing at that moment. Waist-deep in water, with the flimsy fabric of the clothes he had thrown at her sticking to her skin and shivers travelling down her spine, she was willing to welcome his desires.

It all happened in slow motion. She froze for a perfect instant as he zoomed into her and took that one shot. As the clicking sound of the camera was heard reverberating through its metallic case, it sank deep inside of Hinata and made her stomach heavy with something akin to repulsion.

But there was no use in regretting now, at the instant he had taken that picture, she had been willing, more willing to give him her _all_ than ever. Answering his desire had at that moment seemed the most urgent thing in the world. And the most fulfilling.

Hinata had, for a split of a second, been tricked in believing she wanted to stand for him and let him take her over the edge. And now that she stepped out of the pool, her arms protectively shielding her chest, and let him brush over her with his scrutinizing glance, she felt so used.

That feeling at least she was accustomed to. She would know how to deal with it, if Gaara finally decided to leave her alone.

A muscle jumped in his jaw as he looked at her taking such a submissive pose. He liked the submissive ones, the delicate, educated ones. The ones like his assistant. He was surprised he, who never missed a beat, had overlooked her absolute potential.

But at the moment, the way she was acting made him want to break something.

Everything in the manner she turned away her head and let her chest shake with sobs provoked him to throw her back into the pool and, this time, keep her head underwater until she had no strength to fight anymore.

Her tears made him feel dirty.

No woman had ever made him felt filthy before. How many would have gone to hell and come back again for him to even shoot a glance at them?! How many had submitted to all the sick ideas that would cross his mind for the possibility of him just considering them?!

But not this one. This spectral apparition that had come to put his life upside down rejected him with every fiber of her body. And strangely enough, he could not (and maybe was this the first time he felt so) imagine forcing himself onto her.

'She wants to leave, Gaara. We need to keep her, keep her forever. Don't let her go, Gaara. Pretty pictures are not enough. We can't let her leave.'

Pain shot through his temple and Gaara couldn't conceal the weakness. Bringing his hand to his face, Gaara rubbed his eyes, trying to disentangle his thoughts from the delusions. This girl was truly bringing out parts of him he'd rather not enter in contact with again.

He couldn't focus with her around him. Yet he could not reach his full potential without her.

So he turned away and walked back inside the house, leaving her to stand dripping and virtually naked in his backyard.

As his back moved forwards, Hinata could not put any order to her thoughts. Two conflicting forces were pulling her apart. One part of her wanted to run after him and throw herself into his arms. The other wanted to run after her lost sanity and get Hinata as far away as possible from Gaara.

What horrified her was that the first force was winning. She could see herself following him inside the house and let him and his camera have their way with her. She wanted to _satisfy_ him.

She had wanted to be good to Neji and Ino. She had wanted to be soft to Kiba and her sister, Hanabi. She had wanted to help Kurenai.

Yet, this was the first time she wanted to _satisfy_ someone. To answer all his desires and submit her own will to his. How little her dreams seemed all of a sudden, compared to his desires.

No, she was wrong. There had been another man whom she had wanted desperately to satisfy. Her father. But that one had never given her the chance, not given her a sign. Gaara on the other side _spoke_ to her in a language that she understood.

As her thoughts ran free and unbridled, they hit a wall of realism.

'Hinata, look at yourself.'

How could something as ugly and soiled as herself ever satisfy anyone?! And even if she could, she was well aware that the satisfaction he was aiming for implied her being flaunted in front of millions of eyes. And that, she could never bear.

The second option, the one of her running far away, took over. Yes, sanity was back and being a bitch. As if she was worried the French doors would jump at her, she took a step back, even if she was as a good distance from the house.

That was the moment Gaara chose to reappear at the door with a trench coat for men and throw it at her.

What was it with him and throwing clothes at her tonight? However, she welcomed the piece of clothing without any inner struggle this time. She couldn't let herself die of hypothermia. Drowning, sure. Hypothermia, no way.

Her fingers and arms were rigid and it took her some time to figure out how it was that someone put on a coat again. As she fastened the belt, Hinata shot a frightened glance at Gaara, trying to keep it as brief as possible.

Motioning with his head, he entered the house again and since she had no other choice but to follow, protected by the stiff and thick fabric of the trench coat, she did scramble along.

Once inside again, the only thing her eye caught as support were the memory cards that were still lying on the couch.

Throwing herself at them, Hinata picked them up and frenetically started shoving the memory cards inside of the pockets of the coat. She knew that from the moment he had taken his camera in his hand and shot her for the first time, she had been fired.

She would become a hindrance, a distraction that he could not afford. Which did not mean she did not have to finish her job, select and _photoshop_ the right photographs. She would at least do that.

He drove her back to her apartment tower without a word. He didn't even glance at her. The air in his _Bentley_ was thick with unsaid words and unshed tears on her part. This situation should not have turned out the way it had.

Gaara kept his hands fastened on the steering wheel with the conviction that if he took them off, he would kill Hinata.

She should have never appeared in his studio the first time. He should have kicked her out or killed her. Going to prison would have felt better than his prison that his own mind was becoming.

He did not look at her. He couldn't look at all the broken possibilities. That one shot he had taken would satisfy him. He would keep her forever, hung in his bedroom, unmoving, unchanging, his.

However, that was not enough to satisfy Hinata, he knew. It was a waste to let such potential rot under all that fright, that hesitance, that absolute lack of ambition. When she could be eternal.

Truth being said; only one thing frightened Gaara and he could not imagine that the same fright did not plague all humans on this world. Gaara Sabaku-No was afraid to die.

As he unlocked the door and looked at her stumble out of the car, the pent-up frustration released itself in three simple words that fell between them like an axe, severing anything that they had had going on (which was close to nothing) during the last two months.

"You're fired."

She had always loved his voice, deep and uncompromising. Hinata had never had many chances to listen to it though since Gaara kept his words like a goblin his gold.

A certain sense of sadness and much weariness washed over her as she realized those would be his lasts words. At least, his last words directed at her.

She had not looked back as she'd walked towards the entrance of the building. And he had not called her back.

Obviously having forgotten her clothes and luggage at his place, she did not have her keys or her cellphone on her but luckily, even if she were barefoot and looked more disheveled than he'd ever seen her, John, the security guard, recognized her through the glass of the entrance door and opened for her.

She was grateful when she had reached the level and rang at their door that it was Shino that had opened. Obviously, he had shot her the questioning look but refrained from any comments.

The bad part of the story was that Kiba had yet to go to bed, since he was sitting on the ground and playing his fucking _Playstation_. In the middle of the night. There was something to be said about this ridiculous obsession some people had with videogames.

And of course, Shino and Hinata would never admit that when Kiba was away, they spent hours in the middle of the night playing videogames they understood nothing about.

As soon as she stepped inside of the living room, Kiba turned his head with a huge smile plastered on his face. The smile, and his whole features, froze for an instant before going slack with shock. Fuck the _Playstation_, Hinata was in the room.

Hinata was in the room, barefoot, soaked and wearing a trench coat. A men trench coat. Fuck him; this was going to get atomic.

As Akamaru rushed towards her, she tried to step aside. As much as she adored that enormous pack of fur and love, she was worried she was in no measure to return the love. Cue to her starting to wail again.

She was getting on her own nerves here. Hinata tried to brush aside Akamaru and head towards the washroom before Kiba had the time to ask any questions (since Shino was too polite to pry).

Too fucking late.

She walked right into his broad chest almost breaking her nose on his pectorals. And of course his broad hands had to grab her quivering shoulders and squeeze painfully.

What the fuck had happened?!

Thousands and thousands of ideas rushed through his usually empty brain (well, empty according to his mother and sister … and agent … and roommate, ok, just empty) and gave him a major fucking migraine. And when he had a migraine, Kiba was not nice.

"Hinata …"

His voice came out distorted even to him. He did not like the thoughts that tortured him. At fucking all.

"Hina … where are your clothes?!"

Forgetting everything about delicacy and other pussy shit, he grabbed onto the belt of the trench coat and all but tore it off. Buttons went flying as he opened the coat to reveal what was left of a satin nightgown, obviously soaked and clinging to Hinata's poor body.

And honestly, were he not seeing red, he would have most probably taken a good look at Hinata's cleavage that was a novelty he would potentially never see again. However, his dick had never been more of a dead mass as then.

He didn't feel like mounting her one ounce (which normally would have worried him). Kiba wasn't fucking getting sexed up when his Hinata was standing almost naked and soaked to the bone, shivering and crying.

Crying. Because of him. It was terror he could see in her bent down head. Letting go of the lapels of the coat, he took a step back to let her breath. There was nothing worse for Kiba Inuzuka than to see Hinata scared by him. He hated that feeling.

"Hina … what happened ..?"

"N-nothing."

And that was the only fucking answer he would get?! Hey, I am mostly naked and dying of hypothermia because some psycho had most probably tried to drown me in a lake, but nothing happened, really.

"You want me to get you a towel or are you taking a shower?"

Cue to Shino butting in and pulling Kiba by the arm. Not the right fucking thing to do, buddy. As Kiba felt the pressure on his arm, he wheeled around and went right into Shino's face. He didn't like it when people interrupted him in the middle of something.

"Back off, Kiba."

But the diversion had worked, as proved the clicking sound of the bathroom being locked from the inside.

"Fuck you, bug-man. Don't interfere."

"You're going about this the wrong way, as usual. You want to scare her or what?"

As Kiba's hands formed fists, the sound of his bones cracking resonated through the living room. What the fuck was he supposed to do, huh?!

At the moment, the only thing he could think about was that Hinata had come back from a business trip with her asshole of a boss (yes, Kiba very much hated Gaara, having worked with the fucker on a few occasions). And the state she had come back in.

He would break that sneaky Arab's (have you ever noticed how people become intolerant as soon as they get pissed?) nose as soon as he saw him. Tomorrow. First thing at nine thirty a.m.

The only thing that made him snap out of his twisted-panties mood was Aka whining and nudging one of his fists with his wet muzzle. Ok, got it. Let us let the steam out.

Backing off as Shino had suggested, Kiba started rubbing his head as if he was giving his brain a good cleaning. Letting his ass fall on their moth-eaten couch (their fashionable moth-eaten couch), he shot Shino a glare. Why did the dude always have to be fucking right?!

"You should've become a motherfucking psychoanalyst, since you obviously damn enjoy going _Freud_ on my ass, you son of a bitch."

Shrugging, Shino just headed towards the kitchen, since he obviously was the fucking mother of the family. As long as Hinata was the father (imagining Kiba as the father while he was the mother was just wrong, but better Kiba even than Akamaru).

She would need a cup of her expensive, imported Japanese tea. Shino had no idea how to prepare it, but screw that, he wanted to get a PhD eventually; he could manage to infuse some tea.

As soon as the bathroom clicked open, Kiba jumped to his feet as if he'd been electrocuted. However, he had the decency not to attack her again.

Well, not while he imagined her being clad in nothing but a lavender towel (he admitted it, he fantasized about Hinata in lavender, lavender lingerie, lavender towels, lavender maternity clothes … wait, what?!).

He heard her open the door of his old bedroom. Since she'd moved in, he'd been downgraded to the couch he had seated his ass on. Since that fucking marvelous (and he wasn't sarcastic) day, that was his couch and whenever he was at home, he expected for no poopy ass besides his own, Hinata's and Akamaru's to sit on it.

In other words, fuck you, bug-man. But he could just imagine the shenanigans that went down on it when he was away.

Ok, what the fuck, Kiba?! First you think of Hinata in lavender maternity clothes and now you use the term _shenanigans_. Dude, lame.

Kiba's mind was auto-cannibalizing itself and it was not a great feel. It felt like someone was shoving a thermometer up his ass. Or not. Matter of fact was that he hated getting a thermometer shoved up his. Which had nothing to do with anything.

Focus. Back to Hinata, who was most probably dropping the towel to the ground at the very moment and rummaging naked and bent-over (yes, Kiba had a thing for bent-over chicks) through her underwear.

Back to the fucking thermometer up Kiba's ass.

Shino reappeared with what seemed to be a cup of … some shit. And before he had the time to head to Hinata's room, Kiba grabbed the cup out of his hands, sticking his tongue out to Shino.

"Psyche."

He needed to settle the matter. Kiba needed to pull the shit out of her or else he would go crazy. Crazy of rage or jealousy. Jealousy he could manage. However, it was the rage that would destroy him.

Knocking at her door, as if he were a fucking gentleman (yeah, right), he waited for her to open. Obviously, she was hesitating and he understood to a certain extent. But they needed to get this over with.

"I have some uh – green liquid shit burning my hand for you!"

One thing Hinata thought to be absolutely endearing about Kiba was his total and absolute lack of pretension. He didn't play someone he wasn't, even if he was pretty known in the Industry and had his face plastered across every second magazine add.

And the knowledge that he was scratching his head, unable to make the difference between tea and any other green liquid … shit, was enough to make Hinata open the door and shoot him a soft, yet suspicious glance.

"Y-You made tea for m-me?"

The incredulous look she shot lightened the air around them. Kiba's face broke into a huge grin.

"Sure thing, lady. I know all about green liquid shit and this sure is the best. I had no help from Shino. None at all. Now are you gonna move that big ass of yours so I can get into my own room, ya squatter?!"

And sure enough, shooting him that sweet, reticent and shy smile that got his heart racing, she moved aside and he took a step in. The room smelled of her … and him.

He had lived there for years and all the things he had owned had been left in heritage to her. Hence his smell lingering about and mingling with hers. Which made him want to cry as the pussy he was.

He admitted it, he was a pervert and when she was away, he would often sneak into her room and just sit on the floor. He let her smell invade him, lull him into sleep and relax each and every one of his muscles.

And their two scents together meant something to him. In the last two months, he had felt the distance between him and Hinata increase.

She didn't let him touch her anymore, hug her or even look at her. She shrank from him. But at least, in this dark and isolated room, their smells could mingle freely.

He sat on her bed as if it were his own (well what do you know, it was his own, and the very idea Hinata slept in it almost gave him a surge of testosterone, commonly known as a boner) and stretched his long legs out giving her a sleepy smile. Kiba expected her to come sit by him, yet she didn't.

It was killing him slowly. That distance, her soft coolness. He felt deprived without her touch. He wanted her to sit on his lap as she used to, to lean onto his shoulder and let him caress her back freely.

Kiba wanted Hinata. And it had nothing to do with sex.

For the first time in his miserable, stupid life, he realized that had Hinata been a dude, a tranny, had she had a dick bigger than his own (and let Kiba tell you one thing, his thing was not a cock, it was a bratwurst, he could give a fucking elephant a complex), he would still have loved her.

Because he loved her. And love had no gender, no race, no ethnicity. It was just love.

And it was a damn dangerous thing.

At the moment, noticing the violet smudges under Hinata's eyes, the red spots on her cheeks as if she had cried and the paleness of her skin, Kiba was not sure he could remain calm and relaxed. The beast in him was roaring.

Cracking his fingers and flexing his arms, he leaned onto the wall, closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

How beautiful Kiba Inuzuka was. Hinata, had she not been disgusted with herself and worried that she would break him, would have wanted to shoot photographs of him. She couldn't say that she had followed his career as faithfully as she had Ino's; however she was quite familiar with his work. Kiba was as big as it got in the Industry.

And she could see why. The thick long eyelashes that gave his look something dark. The trenchant chin and the slightly protuberant brow transformed a soft and somewhat childish face into a full octane testosterone-driven male. She wanted to touch him.

She had touched Neji and Ino as well. And it had turned into a nightmare.

Hinata had promised herself. She would never let herself be kissed by Kiba's beauty to the point of touching him. And that touch had nothing to do with the physical grazing of fingers on skin, Hinata wanted to touch people's souls.

She wanted for her and Kiba's souls to interweave. She had wanted the same with Neji and Ino.

"Hina … please, Hina."

_Please, Hina_. Please what? Kiba didn't know. What he knew was that all his rage, all his hatred and all the suspicions that were plaguing him came out in the form of a pathetic plea. And yet, he couldn't fucking muster up all his _maletitude_ and be a cock-sucking asshole about it.

"Hina … what happened ..? Did he ..?"

He? He who? Hinata had no idea. And she shot him a puzzled glance in response.

He cleared his throat, the knot in his stomach contracting painfully.

"Gaara … did he try … something ..?"

Hinata opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. Became crimson. And then, frenetically shook her hide from one side to the other, making her long strands of hair whip the air.

She shook it so much that part of the tea in the cup she was holding was spilt on the floor (good thing Kiba and her agreed on a no-carpet rule; with a dog around, the carpet was the number one enemy).

One thing Kiba had always been good at was sniffing liars at a mile away. Working in the Industry had that way of either making you hypersensitive to bigotry either making you the victim of it. And Kiba was no cock-sucking victim. Ever. And he was no liar either.

However, his little talent came in handy in situations like the one he was facing. But then again, Hinata had always been a bad liar. She might have said one thing, but her body could not conceal the truth.

And at the moment, Hinata wasn't lying. Her big, surprised eyes, slightly reproachful, and her shoulders slack with astonishment told him everything. Gaara had not tried anything. Good. This was … good.

He took in another deep breath and passed a hand over his face. Ok, he might try and jumpstart the little that was left of his fucking brain right about now. Since the most important point was laid to rest, he could let his curiosity run wild.

And Kiba was damn curious. Elbows on his knees, he cocked his head to the side and lifted an eyebrow at her.

"Ok. That psychotic asshole didn't try anything … But where the hell did you get the nightdress and how come you were wet?! I mean, it was raining pretty bad … but not that bad."

At the mention of the dress, she blanched. Okay, here came nothing.

"I-I-I-I …"

Cue to Kiba being all ears. He didn't like it when Hina bugged. He felt like he needed to call a damn geek squad from _UCLA_ to unbug her. Shino would do. But Kiba would not call Shino for help. Never ever.

"Take a breath, Hinata. Keep focused on me and breathe."

Kiba was ready if she chose to fall over. However, as some color came back to her cheeks, she felt like she could face the cataclysm.

"I-I-I f-f-f-fell into his p-p-pool …"

And before he could ask what the hell Hinata was doing at Gaara's place and how the hell she fell into his pool, Kiba couldn't fight off the image of Hinata sliding on a banana peel and flying head first into a pool.

He was a bad friend, he was an asshole and an insensitive jerk but he couldn't refrain from laughing. One of those cathartic, liberating laughs that shook the whole room and rippled through Hinata.

In fact, Kiba, his head thrown back, his teeth glistening in the feeble light of Hinata's nightstand lamp, was the image of boyish delight. And Hinata couldn't stop herself from giggling, slightly hysterically she had to admit, yet as well as could be expected after having almost drowned in her ex-boss' pool.

Opening his arms wide, he motioned for her to come to him. And she froze in mid-giggle. Their eyes met and there was none of what had scared her months ago. Not even a glimmer of it. She could maybe, just for this one time … No, she shouldn't.

Taking a step back, she shot him a worried glance. He did not lower his arms; just let a sad smile graze his lips.

"Hinata … don't do this to me. _Please_, don't do this to me."

And he was heartbroken. Here was Kiba fucking begging for some affection. He would take anything, fucking anything. You fag. Kiba, you pussy. And yet, he couldn't stop himself. He _needed_ her.

And she observed his pain. It was in the way the corner of his mouth quivered, his arms stiffened and his neck bent down. The position of a scolded dog.

Just this once. Let yourself go, just this once, Hinata.

She could relieve him without sullying him. She could, she knew. And she thought so because she obviously hadn't learnt her lesson. But there was no time for lessons now. Push them aside and lose yourself in Kiba's dark eyes.

Lose yourself in his dark eyes to forget Gaara's pales ones.

Guided by a force that she didn't even try to fight, she took a step towards Kiba's outstretched arms. Stepping between his knees, she leaned into him and as he raised his head, their foreheads touched.

He lost himself in her. She lost herself in him.

His arms circled her waist but did not have the distasteful reflex to pull her closer. No, Kiba was many things, but greedy he was not. Or at least, he would not be with Hinata.

He saw the conflict in her eyes and knew that his may be the last time she would ever let him get close to her. And he simply relished in it while he still could.

He was in Paradise, her perfume winding around him like a vice and her hair faintly caressing the sides of his face.

And soon, by the tears he saw swimming in those beautiful, strange pale eyes; he knew he would be chased out of Paradise. But at this moment, no damnation could scare him and he wanted nothing more than to prolong the instant.

He did not try anything.

He was no fucking jerk. He respected Hinata's boundaries. Whom was he kidding?! He had been a pushy asshole ever since they've met, years ago.

Had he had any respect for her boundaries, he wouldn't be holding onto her for dear life in the middle of her, his, whoever's room.

As her first tear fell on his lower lip, by instinct he let his tongue dart and licked it away. Salt water. And at the taste of Hinata, his eyes darkened immediately and involuntarily he ever so slightly tightened his hold on her.

Her response was immediate. Her head was hurled back, her eyes filled with horror and her arms forcefully pushed at his shoulders. And he released her right away.

She did not take one step back. She almost freaking ran to the other side of the room. And it hurt. As if someone had taken a butcher knife and stabbed him in the heart. Not in the fucking balls, but in the heart.

His voice broke as he spoke and tears started welling up in his eyes (because as mentioned previously on many occasions, Kiba was a fucking nancy that only needed a nice dress, some heels and rouge and would be wonderful as Kibette).

"You're tired. I'll let ya sleep."

She had hurt him again. And sullied him. As he walked out of her room, leaving her with a puddle of tea on the floor and her now cooled cup, she let tears flow freely for the tenth time of the day.

She did eventually fall asleep, curled up like a kitten. Tears had lulled her into a comatose state and when she'd woken up in the morning, she couldn't stand up.

A cold. Or the flu. She had no idea what it was. The only thing she knew was that her muscles were stiff, her head heavy and pounding and that fever made her already sensitive eyes unfocused and prickly.

Her soft moans got Shino to peek inside the room at about seven a.m. and sigh in exasperation.

Before he left for university, he cleaned up the puddle of Kiba piss (whatever Kiba spilled in the house earned itself the title of _Kiba piss_ instantaneously; in fact had Shino been a zoologist, he would have titled his thesis: _Territory Marking Pattern of the Homo sapiens kibaensis_), took Hinata's temperature, forced her to swallow painkillers, fetched her a bottle of water and a box of crackers and promised her to run back between classes and bring her some chicken broth (even if she insisted she didn't need it before collapsing onto her bed half-dead).

He was Super-Bug. And the soft moan of satisfaction that escaped Hinata as he fluffed her pillow and put a damp cloth on her forehead was all the _thank you_ he needed.

Since Kiba was sleeping in after having went out for a jog in the middle of the night (he was obviously frustrated, but Shino was not one to pry), he didn't see it necessary to wake him up to tell him not to go out.

The guy was Hinata's little puppy. As soon as he woke up, Kiba would be all over her like a rash, hence why Shino didn't see it necessary to stay behind and take care of her. Prince Charming (Kiba was more like the Black Knight, but you did what you could with what you got) would do the job.

However, instead of being the good obedient girl that she usually was, Hinata, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, did her best to stand up. She was so dizzy that as soon as she took a step she felt herself falling over. As her butt reached the mattress of the bed, she had the impression someone had just hit her with a freaking baseball bat.

Ok, one more time. Don't be a whiny pussy (Kurenai's language had rubbed off on her, it seemed), Hinata. Get your ass up.

'One. Two. Three.'

And she stood up on wobbly legs for a second time. This time though, even if she did sway from side to side, she succeeded in sitting down in front of her computer table and grasp for the memory cards she had thrown on top of her _Mac_ the previous evening.

What was the best way to cure a bad cold? Work. _Har har_. And it wasn't only a cold she had to cure.

It felt as if her whole life had exploded into her face in less than two months. Two months she had been kicked out by Kurenai (whom she did still see quite often, as a friend, not a boss) and had seen Ino (who still plagued her thoughts on a daily basis).

She had expected shit to end there. Obviously it didn't. She had lost her fucking job with Gaara Sabaku-No. After she had slid into his pool. Oh, for fuck's sake.

Sure, having lasted two months with Gaara Sabaku-No was better than a freaking reference letter. She would get a job with an up-and-coming photographer.

She just had to open _L.A. Magazine_'s ranking of promising fashion photographers and pick a name to send her resume to.

However, it would not be working with Gaara. Nothing could compare with the intensity, the cold sensuality and the cruel inquisitiveness that were characteristic of Gaara's work as an artist.

In that state between consciousness and coma, Hinata could not stop herself from remembering with regret the streaks of light that played in Gaara's eyes.

She needed to work to cure herself from him.

And from Kiba. The situation between the two of them was getting out of hand. Hinata knew that were she an intelligent woman, she would start looking for an apartment and roommate. However, she didn't have the strength to.

This place, with bug-obsessed Shino, ball-licking Akamaru (ninety percent of Maru's time was spent making his balls shiny, _sooper_ clean and even _moar_ clean) and obnoxious Kiba, was her sanctuary.

She didn't have the strength to get out and run away. She couldn't leave Kiba alone (and she tried to convince herself she couldn't leave Shino and Maru in the same fashion); she would pull him down with her.

And she spent the rest of her day _photoshopping_ and falling asleep on a keyboard, falling asleep on a keyboard and _photoshopping_. She had never worked with more dedication.

Shino did come back running with some chicken broth and she'd eaten it with crackers under Shino's disapproving glance. Well geez, someone had to do their job around here. Her fever flared and she almost asked him to put her back to bed. Almost.

And so, she spent a few more days. Kiba didn't come to disturb her, even if sometimes she felt him hovering around her door. He would grab the knob, release it, grab it, release and then he'd give up and walk away with Akamaru.

Sometimes she wondered whether she wanted him to enter, to sit on her bed and look at her work the way he did when they were at Kurenai's. She wanted to go back to those times; everything had seemed so much easier.

On day three of her little work-sleep regime (she did manage to get out and take showers, by herself, thank you very much), she simply collapsed in the hallway. Hinata had sent Gaara all the photographs of interest, no message attached, doing her job. She could take a break.

She would ask Shino (NOT Kiba) to return the _Mac_ as soon as she was done with it. She had forgotten the phone at Gaara's … and all of her personal belongings, such as freakin' panties and bras she had brought along for their trip. And she was not going to ask for a return. She fucking should, but she wouldn't.

So, back to Hinata fainting in the hallway, only clad in a bathrobe that had chosen that moment to open up around the neck. As she hit the floor, her body made enough noise for Kiba to rush out of the living room in boxers and find Hinata sprawled out.

The fever was at a high and she was suffering from delusions as she spoke in a mix of Japanese and English, calling names of people he did not know. Ino's name came back often.

Picking her up, careful not to disrupt her modest clothing, he simply held her against his chest as her lips opened and closed in a frantic manner. They ever so softly brushed against his pectorals.

As he stepped inside of her room, he realized what it was that he was holding in his arms. If he just deigned to lower his head, Kiba would be able to take a good look at Hinata's generous cleavage.

Obviously, he wouldn't fucking lower his head! He was not a damn pervert. And the poor girl was dying (no one ever died of some exhaustion and a cold, dude, but whatever) in his arms. But as much as he wanted to keep his self-control, he couldn't fight against the feel of her lips and cheek against his torso.

It was like having a butterfly flying along his skin. Soft, innocent and yet enticing. As he settled her onto the bed, losing the battle against his desire, he couldn't refrain from taking a look.

With her face flushed, her head turning from side to side and her lips quivering, she was the most beautiful (yes, he had said so two years ago, he was repeating himself, fuck you) woman he had ever seen.

He'd fucked them all. The voluptuous ones, the thin ones, the black, brown, blond, red-heads of the world. And none had come to scratch. Hinata was without a doubt the most beautiful woman he had ever had the chance to see.

And it wasn't all looks. It had to do with the elegance of her movements, the class that transpired when she spoke, her fucking essence, ok?!

You have a problem with Kiba appreciating a woman's essence?! Like, he could take you outside and solve your problem for you, okay?!

And now, as he got the chance to look at her without having Hinata cower or hide, he wanted to scream his love for her. He was in contact with his fucking feelings and it killed him little by little.

Ever so softly, he kneeled in front of the bed and grabbed the hem of the cover. Pulling it softly over Hinata, Kiba spoke sweet nothings to her in Hungarian, letting his weird, rough and uncoordinated language calm her nerves.

And then it started. To Kiba's horror, the next name that left her tongue was one he knew too well.

Gaara. Repeated over and over like a mantra. In a husky, seductive voice, Hinata called for Gaara right under Kiba's dismayed stare. And then the hoarseness became shrill and his name became a scream of dread.

Kiba was on the ball, grabbing Hinata's face into his hands, he got as close as possible, feeling her sweet breath fan over his cheeks.

"Hina. It's me, Hina. No one will hurt you; I promise. I will protect you."

_I will protect you_. Those words filtered through the haze of her fever. There had been only one person who had ever told her he would protect her and he had left her behind. Alone. With Neji.

Hinata had wanted to hear those words again though. She had wanted someone to tell her they would protect her and care for her. And here they were, those words. She could sleep now. When she woke up, the promise would be broken, but it didn't matter. For now, they would be good enough.

And so, she calmed. Her fever remained strong, but she simply slumped back onto the bed.

For fuck's sake, that had been a real roller-coaster. That chick was pure octane.

And Kiba honestly hadn't needed it. Having her scream that other asshole's name was the cherry on the sundae of a shitty week. At least, she hadn't seemed to be utterly happy to call Gaara's name out loud.

Sliding against her nightstand, he grabbed her hand and held tight onto it. The wooden stand was a major pain in the neck (and in the back) however he was prepared to bear through it for a few hours.

He couldn't possibly leave her alone to turn around and flail in her bed. Whenever he had a fever, he became prone to nightmares. And Hinata's fever would have been strong enough to kill a horse.

He better be at hand if she ever needed the kiss of a cock-sucking Prince Charming (the cock-sucking part was more like him than the Prince Charming) to wake her up.

And he had truly sat around for a good two hours before standing up, scratching his ass unceremoniously and heading out.

Uno, because flashing his naked torso (that would need for his aesthetician to do some work soon, the very thought of wax bands made him shiver) to Hinata would ensure she never recuperated from her fever.

Secundo, because there was a huge turd knocking on his backdoor. He would take one fucking hell of a dump.

And tertio, because her breathing had finally went from erratic to even. She had solidly slipped into REM territory and he could remove his motherfucking presence from the room. Which he did.

Somewhere between afternoon and evening, as she had heard the front entrance door being unlocked, Hinata had sat up on the bed, feeling like a truck had hit her.

Startled at being still dressed in her bathrobe, she had rushed to remedy to the situation (in other words, it had taken her forty-five minutes to put on a pair of rubber-ducky flannel pajama bottoms).

And she had slumped right back onto the bed and taking another round of nappy napping. However, her sleep had not been as deep as previously. And hence, even if she had been unable to snap out of her state, she had felt someone enter her room. Or at least, so she had thought.

She wasn't exactly sure whether it was a dream or whether one of her roommates was truly hovering above her in the form of a heavy dark mass, caressing her forehead and tapping her cheeks ever so softly.

She wanted to open her eyes, yet couldn't. And it wasn't such a disagreeable feeling to have someone whisper vague words to her and brush away the hair sticking to her sweaty forehead.

Hinata was so innocent in her sleep. No, she was always innocent. Kiba had just entered the room to check whether she was doing better.

However, seeing her sprawled on her back, covers pushed off the bed and clad in ridiculous pajama bottoms, had strung a cord deep inside of himself.

He had wanted to touch her instantly and anything had become a good pretext to do so. Taking her temperature. Brushing the hair away from her face. Kiba _needed_ to touch her. And the need, a snake coiling up in the pit of his stomach, was getting out of hand.

He should have stepped away. He should have went to take a cold shower, cut of his dick and went with Akamaru to bury it in someone's backyard ('cause people had backyards in downtown L.A.).

But Kiba Inuzuka was a cock-sucking piece of shit, a motherfucking asshole. A selfish son of a bitch (_har har_, dog trainer joke).

So leaning over the bed, and finally sending his control (he had fucking controlled his impulses for two years) to hell, he brushed his lips ever so softly over Hinata's chapped ones. And it was better than anything he had imagined it would be.

Her lips were pulp, full, inviting. Lips made for kissing. And had he been truly the last asshole on earth, he would have deepened the kiss.

But Kiba was content with even this. What he hadn't realized though was that he had tried to convince himself for two years that he was content with things when in fact, he had always wanted more, more, more.

He had thought he would be content with her smiles. Then with the rare times her hand grazed his. With her letting him rest his hand on her shoulder. With him hugging her. With having her seated on his lap.

He had always fucking thought it would be enough and it had never been.

What would come after the kissing?! That was maybe the thought that had Hinata crack her eyes open in horror.

Kiba raised his head immediately and what he beheld was something out of his worst nightmares.

Hinata had always had been one keen to cower. But it was not terror that was etched on her perfect features, distorting them into the mask of a demon.

It was hatred. Pure, concentrated hatred. And before he could say something, she had sat up and crawled towards the wall. Curling up on herself, her eyes had never left his. And instead of screaming like the damned, she had let two words escape.

Two words that would be carved into Kiba's memory until the moment of his death.

"No more."

Many other words in Japanese had followed. Her eyes had filled with tears, but the hatred had remained. Hinata had brought her hands to her face, hidden it in them. And then, to Kiba's horror, her fine nails had started scratching her own face in a chaotic fashion.

The perfect, porcelain skin took the color of blood as her nails lacerated it. Before he took the time to weigh his options, he threw himself towards her and grabbed her wrists.

That simple gesture unleashed a real tempest of screams. The tears were gushing out of Hinata's pale eyes as she started thrashing against Kiba's hold.

"No more. Please, no more. Don't do it again. I promise. I promise, I will be good. Please, no more."

The words sunk in and Kiba's throat went dry as Hinata continued pleading with God knew whom in Japanese.

_Don't do it again, I will be good_. He loosened his grip in shock and she took that instant to jerk herself free. Shino also chose that very moment to throw the door of Hinata's room wide open.

Before Shino had had the time to block her path, Hinata had ran out of the room clad in nothing but her rubber-ducky pajamas and a black t-shirt. She left behind a broken man. She had broken him.

Kiba curled on himself, sitting on the cold floor of the room, his face on his biceps, his arm blocking his face and his hand lying on his head. He was breathing hard, shoulders raising and falling.

Hinata had ran away, leaving him to sob in that restrained way where his chocked inhales were the only thing to clue Shino in about his feelings. He was left behind with horrible images to plague him for eternity.

Kiba Inuzuka would not be able to touch another woman again from that day on. The very idea of a grind would make his stomach heave. He had been broken.

As the entrance door was slammed shut, Shino leaned onto the wall and kept on staring at Kiba. There was no point running after Hinata. At the speed she had disappeared from the room they would have no chance to catch up with her.

They were only left to hope she would go to Kurenai's or come back by herself. Obviously, even if Shino implicitly trusted Hinata's judgment, he didn't like the idea of having her barely dressed and running around the streets.

"I warned you about selfishness. Now you see where it took you."

Because with Kiba, getting kicked in the balls was never enough, he needed to get wacked on the head with a newspaper to learn his lesson. Shino could have added a _bad dog_,_ bad dog_ but had the decency to refrain from it.

As Hinata reached the flapping doors of the building, she sprinted past John who shot her a worried glance but didn't step in to catch her. And she ran further, further, past baristas and fast-foods.

The fright she was feeling at the moment made her feet so numb that she didn't even realize that they were bare. People turned around to look at her, as she collided with them and pushed them aside.

Adrenaline beat in her temples and made her stomach heave. She felt her throat close up and her lungs burn, however she did not stop, she just ran as if _he_ were right behind her. He? Neji? Kiba? Who? She didn't know.

She had broken him; she had seen it in his eyes. In Kiba's kind, dark eyes. She had broken him and ran before he could punish her.

And she ran on. She wanted to get as far as possible from … what? From Kiba? From herself?

The only way she could get away from herself was to … Could she do it? Why had she never done it? It would have been simple, yet she had always irrationally refused to commit suicide. Hinata could not kill herself, as much as the thought was tempting.

Even after everything that had happened, after having seen so many people hurt by her actions, she believed in hope.

And remembering hope, she gradually slowed down until she found herself standing in the middle of the sidewalk, barefoot and shivering, looking around herself yet seeing nothing. And the tears came back with a vengeance. She was a real fucking crybaby.

Her head hanging low, her rubber-ducky pajamas and her sobs attracted the stares of passerbies who took great pains at walking around her at a good distance.

"It's late, don't go. She might be dangerous. For all you know, she could be a drug addict."

"Oh, come on. She is crying. I want to see if I can help."

"Yeah, flip her a twenty so she can get her dose of crack."

"You're an ass, you know that?"

A hand landed on Hinata's shoulder and she jumped and took a step back. The girl that had touched her did so as well.

"Uhm … are you okay?"

Raising her head, Hinata took a good look at whom it was that come up to her. As the girl saw her eyes and the horrid marks on her face, she took another step back. And most probably regretted having even cared to get close to Hinata.

But, realizing that Hinata was battered, but certainly not high or dangerous, the girl reiterated her question.

"Are you okay? You need help? Money?"

Hinata really had a guardian angel watching over her. How many lost girls had the chance to fall on the right people at the worst moments of their lives?! Not many.

Mustering up her courage and lowering her head again, she muttered:

"… c-call …"

The girl didn't really hear what it was that the rubber-ducky lady said, however the world _call_ she did make out.

"You need to make a call? Here, use my cell."

As the girl produced a smartphone from her purse, she nudged Hinata's arm with it. Softly, slowly, Hinata took it and wanted to wail some more. She just had to call Kurenai. She just had to call Kurenai and everything would be ok.

And her rigid fingers painstakingly pushed in digits she knew by heart. However, instead of relief, she felt dread. It was making her dizzy.

Bringing the phone to her ear, she let it ring. One time. Two times. Three times. She didn't know whether she wanted it to be picked up or not. But the metallic clicking sound and the distorted voice on the other side of the line sent her almost to the floor.

"What?!"

An involuntary sob escaped.

"I-I-I-I …"

Her stutter was broken off by another brusque question.

"Where are you?"

She had no idea. However, lucky for her, the girl had heard the question and loudly replied to it, since rubber-ducky lady couldn't obviously do it.

Before Hinata had had time to add something, the phone had been hung up.

"Is someone coming to pick you up?"

She … had no idea. Was someone coming to pick her up? Good question.

"Okay, she made the call. Let's go now. Someone'll pick her up."

"I am not moving before that someone comes."

"Oh, for fuck's sake."

"Listen, I can't just leave her. You can go if you are not worried to leave me alone in the middle of the night."

And so, the girl had had the best of her boyfriend that just huffed and started playing with his cellphone. Not moving an inch.

Hinata would have wanted to be able to speak her mind with so much confidence and make her choices respected. There was something to be admired in people like that.

Handing the phone back, she shot a tentative, crooked smile to the girl that simply grinned back.

That grin immediately made Hinata think about Ino. She regretted. She shouldn't have been so harsh towards her. It had after all been nothing but a photograph. She could make thousands like that one. But there was only one Ino. And had Ino been with Hinata, all these things would have never happened.

It was too late to regret now.

She had no idea how long the girl and her had had to wait before a dark, foreign car pulled over. In no time though, the door was pushed open and Hinata just had to rush in.

Before doing so however, she did turn around and since her tongue had become heavy in her mouth and her throat had closed up again, she simply bowed, under the astonished glances of the girl and her boyfriend.

And then she disappeared in the foreign car, slamming the door behind her and drove off.

A detail worth mentioning was that it had not been a _BMW_, but a _Bentley_.

**End of Flashback**

Why had she called Gaara instead of Kurenai? The rational part of her brain wanted to remind her that she had not been truly aware of what she was doing. She had found herself in the middle of L.A. crying her heart out and had called the first number that had come to mind.

Her emotional part however had another theory. Hinata was a goddamn masochist, that's why.

"Urgh …"

She needed out of the damn room and get started on Gaara's breakfast, if he deigned to appear at the dining table, that is. She could bet he spent the night in his office, going through magazines and obsessing over Uchiha Sasuke.

Don't ask her why a genius such as Gaara obsessed over small-fry like Sasuke, it was beyond her. Matter of the fact was, if she didn't make him breakfast and he did decide to show his nose, he would most probably leash out at her. Or not. She never knew.

Turning her eye away from her poster-sized portrait, she shot a last glance in her mirror. She had had to undergo an eyebrow transplant operation. Gaara had detested the natural sparseness of her eyebrows (he didn't even have any of his own).

There was nothing to be done with them, the beauty experts said. And so, he had invested for her fucking scalp hair to be moved to her brows. And now she was stuck going to the aesthetician to get them cut. Yes, people, cut. Not trimmed. Cut. Because, you see, scalp hair grows indefinitely.

You wanted to be able to braid your brows? Well, here's your goddamn chance! Urgh, her life was a mess.

But, she had to admit it gave her more character. The brows. Not the fact her life was a mess.

With that last look, she left the room, ran down the stairs to the first level and headed towards the perfect, all-stainless, state-of-the-art kitchen. She had a culinary orgasm whenever she entered it. God bless rich assholes that didn't know what to do with their money.

A Spanish omelette it would be for him if he deigned to show his face. As for herself … fruits and vegetables. Raw. Why? Because she was a fat cow, at least according to him.

'_You're fat._'

He'd opened his mouth in the middle of month two, in Zimbabwe. She had been dying of heat, worried they might get kidnapped and get a ransom put on their head. She was mostly _NAKED_ and a two-meter, sixty-pound heavy _PYTHON_ was being placed on her naked flesh.

And what had he said as encouragement?! Well, he'd slapped her previously as she'd refused to get naked. But he'd also had the decency to shoo out the rest of the crew and take the photographs by himself (he even changed his own memory cards and loaded his cameras by himself, like a big boy).

And then, as final encouragement he'd said that she were fat. And ever since, she'd been on a forced diet.

She didn't know whether it was the smell of coffee or of food that got him to appear right behind her and take a seat at the dining table, but she would have preferred not to have to face his aquamarine eyes after all. They were judgmental, inquisitive, demanding.

Everything, from her pair of _D&G_ jeans, to her _Donna Karan_ silk and cashmere sweater, was up for discussion. If he wasn't happy about her style, she'd most probably get him to simply spill his hot coffee on her.

While they've been in Paris, he'd forced her to go shopping and he'd obviously tagged along. He had virtually destroyed a _Versace_ store, spilling coffee on every wrong item she chose. Wrong according to him. She had never asked what the amount of indemnity he had to pay the store was, though.

However, he appeared calm this morning. As she turned around and beheld him, sitting at the table clad in a simple long-sleeved shirt and jeans, her mouth went dry. As much as she detested him and his ways, there was nothing more glorious than Gaara Sabaku-No at six thirty in the morning (because of course, not being the type to sleep, he had little consideration for her own napping time and expected her to be up before he decided to show his nose).

His hair was short, red and tussled up as if he had just had sex. The black circles around his eyes (that had earned him the name _PandaMan_) only underlined the paleness of his eyes. And that skin so perfectly smooth and bronzed …

Since Hinata was obviously crazy, she couldn't help but wonder what it would feel like to twist her fingers in his hair, sit on his lap and be kissed by that thin, chiselled mouth. Everywhere.

She could feel the heat creeping from her waist up (not before spreading in a place it shouldn't). She wouldn't try anything; she didn't have a death wish for crying out loud.

But, it felt strangely refreshing that she could have these types of normal thoughts. The type all women in the world had. And that she could normally respond to a handsome man. She felt more normal around Gaara.

Even if he abused her in different ways, he still made her feel like an average girl that lived every girl's dream. She should be grateful, and she was. She was grateful. But …

Turning away immediately, she flattened her hands on the kitchen counter. Give. Him. Coffee. Before he goes thermonuclear and blows up the kitchen with the sheer force of his wrath. And so she did hand him his favorite porcelain cup.

Not beating an eyelash, she presented him with his omelette and sat down in front of him, keeping her eyes on the fucking raw carrot she would have the right to devour. Did she look like a damn donkey?! Well, she surely felt like one.

As she pensively chewed on celery, he extended one of his claws and grasped her wrist so forcefully that she dropped the celery right on the table. As her eyes met his, she felt her pressure fall and had he not held her glance, she was sure she would have fainted.

He examined her, carefully, precisely, his insistent stare lingering on her mouth. This Hinata was a maddening woman. He had been tearing clothes off of her body for the last six months, his hands had grazed her curves and edges and yet … Yet, she did not send him one message of desire.

He had physically possessed each and every woman he had come in contact with (besides his sister and his brother's fiancé, he had his standards and whatever woman was crazy enough to run off with Kankuro wasn't worth the trouble). But this one was shutting him out to the point where he wondered whether she could feel anything.

Her skin was always cold and rigid, like marble. Her eyes were always pale, unwavering and dead. Her mouth was made to welcome kisses however there was no such thing as a soft curve to it. Hinata was like a puppet and he was the puppeteer.

And being shut out by such a woman drove him to insanity. It provoked him, enraged him to the point where he found himself hitting her, busting her skin and yet, even if she did keep a good distance between her body and his, she did not trifle with his art.

When it came to her submitting to his artistic desires, he had never felt more sensual eagerness and more carnal pleasure. The moments her eyes turned towards the camera, he could swear he loved her.

And tonight, he would show the world what a perfect puppet, what a perfect porcelain doll Gaara had gotten himself. And the world would envy him. Sasuke Uchiha would envy him.

Because his muse was …

"Perfect."

**x.x.x**

"Kakashi, you are a pain in the ass, you know that?!"

As Kakashi Hatake, grabbed Kurenai's hand and placed it in the crook of his elbow, he couldn't refrain from chuckling at the desperate attempts she made to liberate herself from him. Yanking and pulling. She looked like a wild kitten, ready to scratch and bite him any instant now.

"My dear, you haven't seen a nice exhibition for ages. I am sure Asuma would not forgive me for letting his beautiful widow waste away her youth in a dark dungeon."

Sighing dramatically, Kurenai let the silver-haired fucker (aptly named) pull her inside the gallery. She honestly did not need to attend a private viewing uninvited (she hated the very idea that she, Kurenai Yūhi, an Industry _ex_-guru, was forced to come to a photography exhibit as escort).

However, Kakashi, Asuma's old business partner, had rushed to her apartment with baby-sitter, cocktail gown and designer heels, forcing her to undergo torture at a hair salon and nail parlor for his pleasure (and Asuma's who had gone crazy at seeing the super-nanny _uncle_ Kakashi had gotten him).

And here she was, feeling like a clown, not being dressed in jeans. She had lost the habit of wearing beautiful clothes and smiling like a dumbass to people she couldn't bear.

"Kurenai, love, you can imagine that I have not come to whisk you away solely for the pleasure of your charming company, even if I am tempted to use every pretext to enjoy it, as you already know …"

Shooting him an irritated (and slightly demonic, since her eyes were red after all) glare, she snapped at him:

"We have already been through this, Kakashi. I won't fuck you, not now, not ever. And that includes blowjobs."

Chuckling, Kakashi couldn't imagine this irritable, fashionable succubus he brought along to be his godson's cuddly mother-hen (also, he couldn't imagine he had been turned down before even having made a move on her).

Squeezing her hand softly, he leaned into her, inhaled deeply the perfume she was wearing, and whispered seductively into her ear:

"As tempting as you are, Kurenai, I have brought you with me because of business matters. And nothing else. I'll be a gentleman … unless you don't want me to."

It had been so long she had felt the body of a man close. His cologne made her almost moan.

The hole Asuma had left in her soul seemed at once to be bigger than she could have imagined.

And here was Kakashi. Were she that type of woman, she would have taken him up on his offer long ago.

However the throb between her legs, and in her heart, was not enough for her to stoop that low. She would never become yet another trophy, another scratch in Kakashi's facebook. No, thank you. She had her son and that is all she needed.

Kakashi noticed how her annoyed, exasperated expression became at once placid and decided. And he felt like screaming. Asuma had always had the good ones. And he had always come first. He had stolen Anko right under Kakashi's nose while they had been young and carefree.

Then he had found this pearl Kurenai was and had enchained her to him for eternity. The guy was dead for chrissake and here she was, still pinning for him, years later. And Kakashi couldn't do much beside reading his erotica and fucking every other model that his agents scouted.

When the only one he wanted was Kurenai Yūhi. And not on her fucking knees, giving him a blowjob. Well, ok, not only!

As they made their way through the throng of guests that had gathered to celebrate Gaara's triumph (because whatever that guy puked out was considered as gold), Kurenai froze.

Pulling slightly on her arm, Kakashi tried to make her move without turning to look at her. But as she didn't comply, he had no choice but to throw her a glance.

The horror that played on her features petrified him too. Taking another look around himself, the only thing he could see were Gaara's photographs, and on them the reason he had deigned coming to the exhibition.

A lot of darkness, yes, but nothing repulsive or horrifying. On the contrary, the photographs were very erotic, voluptuous, enticing. And then it hit him.

He had brought Kurenai along for the simple reason that she knew the model. His agents had informed him that the reputed model had worked for Kurenai as assistant for a long time before switching over to Gaara and somewhere along the way, becoming his muse.

"Uhm … Kurenai, dear … you did know that she ..?"

Well, obviously not, genius. Her bemused, lost glance told him all he had to know. But as people started crowding behind them, they had to move. Ever so softly tugging her along, he whispered reassuring words that didn't mean much to her ear.

And the death-grip that cut off the circulation in his arm, loosened. From horror, Kurenai's features relaxed into gloom and she moved on by herself; leaving him behind.

As a waiter walked by her with flutes of champagne on a plate, she just grabbed a flute, ingurgitated the alcohol and put the glass right back onto the plate. She would need more than some French piss to keep her going this evening.

What the fuck was all this shit?! Photographs of Hinata, obviously. Hundreds of them actually. And all of them … horrible! Gaara's art was perfect; the Hinata that he exposed was perfect.

But her eyes, her eyes were filled with fright, with anguish and sadness. Kurenai had fucking told Hinata not to get involved in this shit. But it had also been Kurenai that had pushed her into Gaara's arms (well not exactly his arms). She had just never thought that Gaara would see something in Hinata.

When Kurenai herself had not seen anything. No, Kurenai had seen a lot, but not as a model. Kurenai had looked at Hinata as a photographer. And this Hinata she was seeing all around her, extravagant and forceful, was not a happy Hinata. It wasn't even Hinata.

Had Kurenai turned around at that moment and shot a glance to the other side of the gallery, she would have seen a person that was inclined to share her point of view.

Dressed in a red silk that was surely hard to miss, her luxurious mass of blond hair shining under the dim lights of the gallery, Yamanaka Ino was trying to keep her dinner inside of her stomach. She was doing her very fucking best.

Ok, what the fucking hell was this?!

Sasuke had gotten an invitation to a private viewing of Gaara's new exhibition. 'Cause the guy was so big that he exhibited his fashion photographs as if they were art. No need for magazines, that was for newbies. You by-passed and went directly to exhibiting.

Obviously, Ino had informed him, while zipping down his fly with her teeth, that she was tagging along. And she had done so. Pretty damn amazingly at that. Her arm sneaked around Sasuke's, in her red cocktail dress, she had stepped inside of the gallery as if she were the freakin' owner of the place … and of Sasuke.

As everywhere she went, she had made heads turn. However, she had had eyes for no one but Hinata. Hinata blown up on enormous canvases and filling the room with her empty glance. Ino had almost fucking fainted. She surely had slumped onto Sasuke and stayed there for a few minutes.

Until she had walked away and abandoned him like a used tissue paper. She didn't care where the son of a bitch had gone. He didn't even need to fucking come back at the moment.

And now, standing in front of a collection of photographs entitled _The Seven Deadly Sins_, Ino felt like mowing down the asshole that had done that to Hinata.

How the hell did she even end up in that situation?! No wonder Kurenai Yūhi had had no fucking idea where Hinata was. Who would have looked for her at Gaara's?!

And then it came back, the bitch of a feeling that had been robbing Ino of her sleep for the last eight months. Guilt.

Yes, Ino admitted it for the first time in her life. It had all been her godforsaken fault. She should have never jumpstarted her career at the expensive of her _wife_'s feelings (they were separated, not divorced).

Every morning Ino woke up, slid from under Sasuke's arms and headed towards the entrance door of his penthouse, where the security guard always left the daily newspaper.

Whenever Ino opened it (because yes, Ino could read and she was pretty damn informed for a blond bimbo, thank you very much) and read something about a murdered girl, her heart skipped a beat.

It was her greatest fear to read something about a raped and murdered black-haired female and it plagued her on a daily basis. In fact, not one moment passed without her imaging a lost, hungry and frightened Hinata in some seedy alley.

She had gone to the police. She had made a deposition; she had admitted having hit Hinata and Hinata obviously willingly having left the apartment. They had told her that since she had willingly left, they couldn't do anything.

Instead of running away with Sasuke and working her ass off, she had spent a month going through each and every homeless shelter, each refuge for battered women.

She had begged Kurenai Yūhi, she had called Kiba Inuzuka (Itachi had never hated her more than when she had made him call Inuzuka's agent so that she could have a five minute conversation with him). She had cried and rightfully accused herself of all Hinata had had to undergo.

Nothing. Hinata had disappeared in thin air. Ino had not been rational enough to imagine that they were hiding Hinata from her. And she had moved on. Not.

Sure, she had worked. She had signed a one-year exclusivity clause with _Versace_. She had given an ever dissatisfied Sasuke her all.

_Vogue_ was asking for more, more, more. Ino had shot from virtually unknown to uncontested darling of the Industry. They called her the new _Claudia Schiffer_, _Brooke Shields_ (minus the brows, thank you very much).

They even dared comparing her to _Gisele Bündchen_, the most influential model of their time. Ino was already huge. She would be sensational.

They were all _hush hush_ about it (which meant all the West Coast fashionistas talked only of that), but the word was that _Swarovski_ was just waiting for _Miranda Kerr_'s contract to come to an end so they could sign Ino.

Even _Guess_ was making secret plans concerning her. She had strutted down the catwalk for _Victoria's Secret_.

Fucking _Galliano_ had said:

"Ino is an anarchist of the fashion system."

And she didn't care, couldn't feel joy.

Yamanaka Ino was about to reach her fucking goal in life. All the disgusting, fat pieces of shit she had let abuse her in all the imaginable ways were paying off … and yet, she had increased her daily dose of coke twofold, she cried herself to sleep, barely ate anything.

She felt so empty. Ino had become dependent on Hinata. She had lived through Hinata's camera. She loved Hinata.

She loved the soft, sleepy smiles Hinata flashed when she woke up in the morning, her pouts, that goddamn way she had to take herself for Ino's mother. She loved the way Hinata had the habit of putting her head on Ino's shoulder or the way she rubbed her nose under Ino's chin.

And Ino had thrown all that in the shitter and fucking flushed it like the dumbass that she was. Flushed it for what?

For Sasuke? Sasuke that looked through Ino as if she was a ghost, that fucked her as if it were a chore. Sure, he had been the reason she had made it so big so fast.

And he should be grateful to her. Hadn't it been for her understanding what he wanted exactly, he would have stayed the unrecognized underdog that got one or two spreads in _Vogue_ and then went _incognito_ for months before someone threw him a bone again.

As she stared at the photograph in front of her, Ino just wanted to touch her. To touch Hinata again, to go back to that time they lived in a crummy, tacky efficiency apartment, slept on a mattress that took up half of the space and ate shit that could be cooked inside of a microwave.

But this woman was not Hinata. The only thing of Hinata remaining in that deliberately seductive vixen was the fright hidden in the depth of her eyes. Ino tried to suppress the dry heaves that shook her. This was not Hinata.

Disposed in the middle of a set of seven shots staging Hinata and different wild animals of the savannah was a very fetching one, that obviously was the chore of the ensemble.

Hinata appeared naked, however her attributes were hidden by the sinuous body of what seemed to be a very big snake. It had slithered across Hinata's chest and hips, its tail lying limply between her legs. Its disgusting head was provocatively resting on her shoulder, yellow eyes turned towards the camera, tongue whipping the air.

Hinata was acting the role of the temptress. Her head tilted to the side, hair softly fluttering in a breeze (they must have used a fan, old trick), lips parted and tongue pointing, she was offering a crimson apple to the viewer.

It was sexual, primal and undulating with life. Like each and every picture Gaara was exhibiting. But to Ino it looked like pedophilia. The fright and sadness in Hinata's eyes were so poignant that any normal individual would have called the police for abuse.

It was on the border of being pornographic. It got fucking Yamanaka Ino uncomfortable! Even the pictures where Hinata was dressed from head to toe had a feel of coercion. Hinata had been forced into doing this. Ino knew her fucking wife by heart.

Any normal person would have turned her head away from the pictures. However, they were all spawned by the Industry. There was not one cock-sucking normal person in the gallery at the moment. These disgusting assholes were enjoying raping her Hinata with their eyes.

And Ino could do nothing. She could do nothing. But puke. Rushing out through a strand of people, Ino did her best to reach for the washroom before the salted crackers she had had for dinner come out the wrong hole.

At the moment the door of a fancy stainless-steel shitter stall was being slammed closed, a dark _Bentley_ pulled up in front of the gallery.

Cue to one of the valets rushing towards the passenger door at the same time as the driver door was swung open and a sinfully handsome man in an elegant suit, with the most astonishing vine-colored hair, stepped out.

As the valet prepared to offer his hand to the lady that was waiting inside, Gaara materialized by his side and snatched away the adorably small hand that was stretching out. Squeezing hard, he elicited for his charming partner to let a moan of pain escape.

However, she knew better than to retrieve her hand and simply laid a little, flat-clad foot on the sideway. Gaara would have never accepted for her to tower over him and hence she had been, to her relief, sentenced to wear _Miu Miu_ flats that were more pretentious than any pair of heels could be.

As Gaara settled Hinata's hand in the crook of his elbow, he simply tossed the keys of the car to the valet, shooting him the _don't-dent-it-or-I'll-fucking-come-after-you-with-a-chainsaw_ glare. He felt her hand quiver ever so slightly and grabbed her wrist in what wanted itself a threatening and soothing gesture.

_Perfect_ his pale eyes said. She had to be perfect. For a change.

However, as they stepped inside the gallery and got a mass of people to turn around and delightedly smile at them, she felt her temperature soar. She must have been blushing. And all of a sudden, she regretted not having put up a fight with Gaara concerning the cocktail gown.

The thing was always riding up her legs and showing off more skin than was decent. And he had insisted she left her shoulders uncovered. The black lace of the dress, in other words, didn't cover much. She felt as if she was being eye-fucked by the assembly, which actually was the case.

"Late for his own exhibition. How fashion."

Kakashi whispering to her ear made Kurenai jump and almost kick him in the balls. The guy had no idea how lucky he was she had good reflexes. He would have ended up castrated, had she followed her instinct (or her darkest desires).

Her eyes softly turned to his and got him to shut up. Kakashi had never seen Kurenai so sad. Well, yeah, he had, on Asuma's funeral. Someone killed her fucking dog, or what?

He knew she wanted to talk to the girl Gaara had taken along and he obviously wanted her to talk and give him therefore a possibility to get to the model.

However, at the moment, the way people were crowding them, there was no way Kurenai would be able to get to Hinata and so she walked off, not caring much whether Kakashi was following or not. She needed to get away before she broke something.

Hinata had of course no idea that Ino and Kurenai were somewhere in the gallery, roaming around the exhibition rooms and waiting to jump on her. Hence, as uncomfortable as she was, she could at least keep herself conscious.

Truth being said, there was only one idea that was keeping Hinata from running for shelter. It was the promise Gaara had given her sixth months ago as she had climbed into his _Bentley_.

And he had kept his promise; he had sent Uchiha Sasuke an invitation for the private viewing of _their_ art. Gaara was very particular on it being called _THEIR_ art, as if he found it lonely to be the only one credited for the pretty pictures he shot.

But for the moment, she was stuck trying to get away from hands that took too much freedom with her person. A young man with a shock of brown hair and a carnivorous smile appeared in front of her. Of course, he startled her.

"Sister-in-law, I am so fucking happy to finally meet you. You know, we all thought Gaara was gay. But seeing all this …" he motioned around him over the heads of a few of Gaara's acquaintances that shot the brown-haired man dirty glares "… I can have a clean conscious when I sleep at night, knowing I am not the only one getting some."

Didn't he know about Gaara's sexual exploits being spread by the girls of the Industry? Gaara was considered a sex symbol! He was not a model of sex-shop dildo, he was the whole sex-shop. No, he was a merger of a sex-shop and porn producer! Seems someone was not well informed.

"Kankuro, stop talking out of your ass. So you are the _new_ girl?"

The guy, Hinata had no idea who he was, but the girl that had placed right in front of Hinata and was shaking a flute of Champaign under her nose, Hinata could recognize between thousands of faces. Temari Sabaku.

Temari Sabaku that was shooting Hinata one of the coldest glares she had ever had to face.

Temari's yellow eyes were staring right through her as if she was nothing but air. And it didn't feel good.

But that was to be expected. Temari had been her brother's muse for ages; he had only wanted to work with her and no one else. Until Uchiha Sasuke had come along and ruined it for them.

Now, Temari had issues to land herself a shooting and was very dependent of her old connections that threw her a bone from time to time.

But in general, it could be said that the only reason she had even started modelling in the first place was because of Kankuro and Gaara's fucking mother, that Spanish harlot. It had been nothing but a way to beg for some attention and affection.

She was better at doing business. And she had a back-up plan. Temari Sabaku always had a back-up plan, which didn't mean she should feel happy about her brother ever replacing her with a gold-digger like the mousy little bitch she was seeing.

Like a cat that was passing her claws on an armchair, Temari shot Hinata an arrogant glance that could only mean:

'_You've been measured, you've been weighed and you have been judged insufficient._'

Hinata's response was immediate. Her neck shrunk into her shoulders and she lowered her head, only shooting Temari a worried look from under her long eyelashes.

Since she was not the only one that wanted to get away from Gaara's stifling siblings, she felt herself being pulled towards another side by him. Somewhere along the way, she lost him and decided to grasp the opportunity and go hide somewhere.

It was difficult for her to bear all that talk, since Gaara wasn't speaking more than usual and would simply ignore the questions asked, leaving her to try and give answers that were always expressed with extra stuttering.

Choosing a room that was obviously not visited by many, since it presented pictures that were everything but sexual or even fashionable, she sneaked in and found an empty, marble bench that permitted her to finally relax.

Hinata truly hoped she would never have to undergo this type of trial again. All these people were disgusting. The way they grabbed for her hands, the way they looked at her as if she were a piece of meat that they could buy on the market. It made her stomach heave. And her eyes fill with tears.

Because that was what she had become. Gaara had made a piece of meat out of her. As tears threatened to spill, she raised her head. She wouldn't want to ruin her perfect make-up on this gloriously perfect day.

God, she started to hate that word, _perfect_.

"Hinata …"

And the day just got even more fucking perfect. She did not need this …

Turning her head to the side, she took in Kurenai's form, dressed like a real bomb. And shooting her the most heartbreaking glance, Kurenai approached. Hinata fucking didn't need this. She had lied to Kurenai, obviously.

She had told her she had moved out into an apartment and kept on working as Gaara's assistant. At least she hadn't really lied when she'd told her about Kiba and her having a little misunderstanding. Hinata had a talent for understatements, yes.

Kurenai had told her to keep away from this business, how could Hinata had faced her after becoming Gaara's photography whore?!

Seating herself, Kurenai left a healthy distance between her and Hinata. Clearing her throat, she opened her mouth to say something, but closed it right away.

What was it that she could tell the younger woman? Had Hinata wanted to share this with her, she wouldn't have lied about her situation. And Kurenai wasn't one to throw reproaches at people. She didn't even feel reproving.

No, Hinata hadn't lied. She had kept on working for Gaara, her obligations only changed. Looking at the more conservative photograph of Hinata jumping down a heap of hay, she felt her heart contract.

Even if this was supposed to be a joyful black-and-white taken in the American countryside, Hinata's eyes did not denote an ounce of delight. Her eyes spoke of coercion. Gaara was not known for going after people. On the contrary, he was the type that expected for people to come to him. Especially models.

Having him forcing his art upon Hinata was something Kurenai had not expected, sending her assistant to work for him. And the way Hinata kept her head low and expressed shame, Kurenai couldn't imagine that it was Hinata that had forced herself upon him because of the temptation fame represented.

"You are not obliged to do this, Hinata."

Kurenai was not mad. Hinata could not believe her ears. She had expected an outburst, reproaches. But there was nothing but sadness. Turning her head again to look at Kurenai, the only thing Hinata could see was regret.

"You are not obliged to do this" Kurenai repeated.

But yes. Yes, Hinata was obliged to. It was the deal.

"I g-gave h-him m-my word. I p-promised him I would work if h-he …"

"If he ..?"

No, she would not tell Kurenai. Hinata couldn't show Kurenai such an ugly side of herself. In fact, she had no idea what she was doing here. She hadn't been invited. Hinata would have never invited someone she loved to witness her downfall. She hadn't invited Shino either. Or Kiba. Kiba …

"I w-want it. I r-really w-want t-this."

Before she had the time to grasp what was happening, her head was being turned towards Kurenai and the red eyes that had been sadly placid a second ago started glowing with fire.

"Don't bullshit me, Hinata. You might not want to tell me what that agreement between you and Gaara implies, and that's ok. But do not fucking lie to me. You obviously don't want to be here and all this shit shows me that you didn't want to be there, either. Just because I am retired it doesn't mean I am blind."

Squaring her shoulders and pulling her head out of Kurenai's hands, Hinata did her best to hold the older woman's stare (but she failed miserably at trying not to blink). Her voice was barely audible but it did not waver.

"Kurenai, I won't leave, I will keep my promise. I will keep modelling for Gaara."

"Wonderful!"

Both women turned their heads to the side to see a man in a nice suit walk towards them. His hair was of a strange grayish color. Someone had started stressing before his age.

Clapping his hands and a ridiculous smile plastered over his face, Hinata only felt like throwing something at him.

This was _their_ fucking moment. Could they settle this between women without some of Gaara's jackass acquaintances coming to screw over the moment?!

"Kakashi, get your ass out here before I stab your balls with my twelve-centimeters."

Kurenai was referring to her heels, obviously. Ok, he wasn't one of Gaara's acquaintances. Whatever.

"Now, now, my lovely wildcat, let me do my job."

In no time, he had his hands wrapped around Hinata's, snatching them from her lap. Dear lord, his smile was so wide it shrunk his eyes into slits.

But he smelled nice. And had a wonderful older-man vibe that got Hinata's temperature to soar again. She must have looked like a real tomato.

"Kakashi Hatake, of _Talent Modelling L.A_. And you must be Hinata Yamanaka. Very pleased to meet you."

Cue to Hinata falling over. Or not. As her pressure dropped and she swayed, Kakashi pulled her and their faces almost collided. She was barely five centimeters from him, her blank eyes staring into his gray ones.

"You, Miss Hina, are wonderful."

What the hell was happening?! Jerking her head back, she did her best to pull her hands out of his grasp, under Kurenai's exasperated glance.

"And you could be even more wonderful with the right agency backing you."

Rolling her eyes, Kurenai sighed. This was getting ridiculously out of control. But Hinata needed to learn all the sides of the Industry if she planned to keep on modelling. And strangely enough, if there was no way Kurenai could dissuade her, then, she felt safer having Hinata under Kakashi's guidance.

The guy was a self-centered prick that read erotica. But, he didn't let his girls go wild or abandoned them to their fate. And he wouldn't dare lay a finger on her since he was, like ninety-nine present of the people in the gallery at the moment, sure there was something more between Hinata and Gaara than photography. And Kurenai wasn't exactly sure those ninety-nine percent were wrong.

The thought made her uneasy and so, when Gaara appeared in the room, Kurenai just felt like marching right at him and ripping him a new one (a new what? she had no idea, it was an expression for chrissake).

"Hinata."

And as if she was trained, Hinata jumped up and immediately ran up to him, taking up that submissive pose where her head was bent down and she looked at him through her long eyelashes, gauging his mood.

Kurenai didn't like it one fucking bit. And the glare she shot him was meant to get that across. She wouldn't let him mess with Hinata.

"Gaara, long time no see."

Wait, wait. Kurenai and Gaara knew each other?!

Looking from one to the other, Hinata let her jaw drop. She thought everyone knew Gaara. But not that they actually _knew_ each other. As in _knew_.

But yes, Gaara knew _of_ Kurenai Yūhi. She had brought Eastern minimalism to the US and had had a good run until she'd flushed it down the drain. For whatever reason. Gaara didn't care.

However, he had enough respect for her to still consider her a photographer and to be pleased in his own strange never-pleased way at her presence. He had no reason to want to rub it in to her.

It was always pleasant to see his rivals (Kurenai would have most probably be flattered to still be considered a rival by someone in Gaara's position) as he shared his triumph with the world.

Nodding at her curtly, he grabbed Hinata's arm and painfully pulled her along. Before they could leave the room however, Kakashi had seized Hinata's other arm and drawn her towards him, eliciting an immediate response from Gaara. Snapping his head around, he glared at Kakashi in a domineering way.

Hands off, motherfucker.

But it had made Kakashi only more pleased. Producing a business card from his front pocket, he handed it to Gaara.

"If you want for her to work on _all_ your projects, you know she will need an agent. And an agency that will have the guts to send big names to hell just to humor _you_. Surely not _Elite_ or _Ford_."

As Gaara made no movement to take the card, Kakashi simply slid it in Gaara's front pocket and turned around, his smile never leaving his face. Gaara pulled Hinata along and away from that fucker.

'They all want her, Gaara. She will leave us. They all want to take her.'

Since he had started living with her, the voice had become more and more insistent. Obviously, his medication kept him on the sane side of the spectrum, but the voice was never leaving him anymore. And it was becoming more and more rational.

They all wanted her.

All their eyes were turned towards her, whether it be the woman on the photographs or this flesh and bone specimen. And it was driving Gaara crazy.

He was a paradox. He wanted to expose her and yet, he desired to keep her forever with him, hidden.

As she stopped, Gaara almost punched her. Who was it that had attracted her attention now?! Whom would she run off with?!

"Uhm … G-Gaara … w-washroom."

Surprise at the very idea that physiological responses invited themselves to his private viewing made him let her go, after having given a show to a whole assembly of … idiots (because Hinata considered humans to be monkeys that wore clothes … on occasion). Dragging along the star of the show made people talk.

He just had to follow her to the washroom now and BJ references would be spread throughout the Industry. Again. But too late, she had already disappeared.

She walked through a throng of people, smiling and nodding, trying to extricate herself from their hands. They all wanted to talk to her, to get to know her; they all smiled at her and behind her back made comments. Not of the nice variant.

Ino had told her about these ways, she wasn't naïve enough to get caught in their spider web. Hinata received invitations to parties she would certainly not attend. Becoming a crack-whore and ending up fucked by some sleazy photographer was not part of her life plan and wouldn't happen anytime soon, for sure (that's what _she_ thought!).

As she pushed the washroom door open and stepped inside, Hinata huffed in relief. Before freezing all over again. Sitting on the floor, her legs stretched out and her hand limp and travelled by strange pulses was the very person Hinata had been dreaming about for the last eight months.

Ino.

Ino as beautiful as she had always been, even if her mascara was smudged and her eyes bloodshot. Her nose was red. She had snowed herself again. But she was beautiful.

Keeping her breath, Hinata didn't dare advancing, irrationally afraid that Ino would disappear as soon as she made a move. But, as the crybaby that she was, tears threatened to spill. Again. For the six hundredth time of the evening.

"Aw, fuck. I am going crazy. You always appear in front of me that way. Today you decided to wear a cocktail dress. Since when do you wear such revealing shit, huh?! Yesterday, you were dressed in a winter coat. The type you wore when we went to Fuji-yama with school."

Rubbing her forehead, Ino just blinked a few times, trying to dissipate the mirage. She had never had any weird illusions when she used coke before. She needed to cut down on the shit, honestly.

"Oh, Ino."

Sitting up straight and pointing her finger at Hinata, Ino almost went hysterical. Her Hinatas never talked. This one did. The fuck?!

"You're fucking real!"

Walking up to Ino and kneeling down, Hinata just took her in. She had missed her. She didn't even remember why it was that they had parted ways. Oh, yeah. Ino had punched the living lights out of her.

But being so close to her again made that seem almost trivial. Gaara punched the living shit out of her on a daily basis. The difference was, Gaara's eyes never filled with so much anguish, so much pain as Ino's did.

What had Hinata done to her? This Ino she was seeing was not the real Ino. The boisterous, loud and arrogant Ino.

A shadow. She had become a skeletal shadow, with the biggest blue eyes Hinata ever seen. Those beautiful eyes were too big in that thin face.

Had Hinata done this to Ino … or Sasuke? Who was to be blamed? Of course, Hinata was prone to taking the blame on herself.

However, the legend she had weaved around Uchiha Sasuke did make her just as willing to accuse him of it too.

Revenge, Hinata wanted revenge. Had Sasuke not come along, she would have lived happily with Ino. She had been able to hide her ugly side for years with Ino by her side. And then, Sasuke had reappeared.

Hinata wanted revenge.

Standing up, she stepped away, followed by Ino's sad smile.

"It's too late, isn't it, Hina?"

It was too late, they both knew. They would never be able to go back to their little apartment, to their fickle quarrels and joyous laughs. Their kisses were nothing but fading memories. In eight months, they had changed to the point they couldn't recognize each other.

But that's the Industry. It transforms the virgins into whores and the whores into bodies in decomposition. As much as Hinata could not recognize this dejected, miserable and melancholy Ino, Ino could say the same about Hinata.

This made-up, provocatively-dressed (provocative for Hinata) vixen had nothing to do with Ino's soft, shy and introverted Hinata. And she seemed so unhappy. Hinata had always been unhappy and sad, but this was not sadness anymore but a fire that lighted her eyes from within and seemed to burn everything on its way. Hinata had never hated. Until now.

What had Gaara Sabaku-No done to her?! Whatever Ino imagined only made her stomach heave.

Turning towards the sink, Hinata moistened a tissue paper and came back to Ino. Without much softness (you fucking tried taking off mascara, eyeliner and eye-shadow with nothing but a wet tissue paper?!), she started rubbing Ino's eyes.

"Ow. Ow! Hinata, OW!"

"S-Stay still. You l-look like a racoon."

Well Mommy-Hina was back with a vengeance. She just needed to wet her forefinger with some saliva and rub it on Ino's nose to clean a smudge and that would settle the deal. But that would not happen. Hopefully.

As Hinata started rummaging through Ino's clutch to grab her make-up essentials, Ino did take a good look at her wife (ex-wife?). And even if she was completely strung on coke, she was not blind. The marks on Hinata's neck spoke for themselves.

Hinata busied herself around Ino's eyes, mascara, eye-shadow and all that jazz. And Ino kept on staring at the barely visible marks. Lifting her hand, she rubbed her thumb over the base of Hinata's neck, which made the girl yelp in surprise.

Foundation. Classic.

"Does it hurt?"

"W-What?"

"When he beats you."

Hinata froze. And then, simply continued brushing smoky eye-shadow over Ino's eyelids. She certainly wouldn't have that conversation with Ino.

"You are not obliged to go through that."

Oh, for fuck's sake, as if Hinata didn't know! No one could understand Gaara and her. She didn't mind him breaking something of hers, as long as she wasn't obliged to look into broken eyes. Eyes broken like Ino's. Or Kiba's …

"D-Done. M-Much better now."

Grabbing onto Hinata's wrist, Ino yanked her towards herself.

"Hinata, leave him."

Pulling her wrist free, Hinata stood up and started putting back all the make-up.

"Hina –"

"Leave Sasuke."

That was a low blow, Hinata knew. But it came back to the same right? Gaara hit her, she didn't mind. Sasuke abused Ino, and yet Ino stayed with him too. Hinata had heard the rumors about their torrid affair. She was not deaf.

The difference being that there was nothing beside photography between Gaara and Hinata. However, between Ino and Sasuke, there was history. Too much history for Hinata to bear.

"Hinata, did I fuck up to that point?"

Ino's voice broke again. It was her fault. Everything was her fault. She had destroyed the little balance Hinata had tried to build for herself. She had robbed her.

As Hinata's eyes dampened, she shook her head slowly, doing her best to smile.

"You w-were the b-best p-part …"

_Were_.

"Why do you stay with him? Hinata, I can help you. Please. Let me help you."

She would not cry, Hinata would not cry. Nodding her head thoughtfully as if answering her own thoughts, Hinata's expression became blank.

"W-Why? He g-gives me … everything. And I am sick of running away."

That reply sent disagreeable shivers through Ino's body. Everything. That was another way to say nothing; Ino was an expert in the matter. Sasuke too gave her _everything_.

As her eyes focused onto Hinata's pensive face, she noticed the frightening curve that the soft lips of her wife took.

"I w-want r-revenge. And he g-gives it to me."

Revenge?

Turning ice-cold eyes to Ino, she simply brushed her intrusive, vacant glance over her form. And Ino almost shrunk on herself. No one had ever looked at her with such a searching stare. Now she knew why Hinata had been nicknamed _Ice-Queen_ during their last year of high school.

Extending her hand to Ino, Hinata helped her stand up on wobbly legs. Ino still towered her. She would never be as big as Ino, she knew. And she didn't care. For all she cared, she could die after this evening. As long as she could look at _his_ face for that split of an instant.

They had nothing to tell each other anymore, and yet they could not bring themselves to go out of the washroom (by the way, with all that excitement, Hinata forgot that her bladder was about to explode). They knew that as soon as they stepped out, the charm would be broken and they would have to part ways.

Ino did not want that to happen. She knew it would kill her slowly. But Hinata wanted just to leave. They shouldn't have met up. Looking into Ino's broken eyes, she had felt her stomach heave and guilt come back.

The same guilt that lulled her to sleep every evening. Neji, Ino, Kiba. She was a monster. Hinata was a monster. Only Gaara understood her, only he could be close to her. Because he was a monster too. She _wanted_ him to beat her. She needed _him_ to beat her.

Ino's fingers interlaced with Hinata's, making her snap out of her dark musings. The pressure was tentative and a demand for affection. One last time. Please, Hinata.

She remembered what had happened with Kiba. He too had demanded for comfort and Hinata had ruined it. She would ruin Ino beyond repair. But before she could turn away, Ino's lip softly grazed her own. Lovingly, sadly. It was nothing but a flutter. An illusion.

They stepped outside of the washroom together, holding hands and not wanting to go back. They knew this might be the last time they would meet up together. Ino's nights would be haunted forever with the image of Hinata's bruised neck. Hinata's nights would never be peaceful again with the knowledge of Ino's pain.

As they stepped out, Gaara, who had been waiting for a good fifteen minutes outside of the washroom, saw red. Hinata was holding onto Ino Yamanaka (he remembered the bitches that went on his nerves) for dear life.

Had she not immediately rushed towards him, horror filling her eyes and silent supplications hidden in the corner of her mouth, he would have killed someone. However, this was not the moment to throw a tantrum.

Shooting Ino a cold, repulsed glare, he violently grabbed Hinata's arm, for the twentieth time of the evening (she would end up with a broken bone, she could feel it), and pulled her away.

She was trying to run, Gaara knew. She wanted to leave him and anyone would be good enough.

'Yes, she wants to leave us. We cannot let her leave us, Gaara.'

"Shut up" he muttered, under Hinata's surprised glance.

She hadn't said anything and couldn't spend more time pondering upon what Gaara had meant since they were welcomed by a mass of people clapping their hands.

Shit, they were late. On a small, improvised stage, an older man, most probably the gallery's elegant curator, had been giving a speech before Gaara and her rushing in had interrupted him by raising all this ruckus.

Wary of appearances, Gaara released Hinata's arm and simply slid her hand in the crook of his elbow. He did not smile; he did not acknowledge people in the crowd and yet an enormous amount of love was being thrown their way. Poisonous love, the type the Industry bestowed before backstabbing you.

However, Hinata did not pay any attention to all the eager faces that shot carnivorous smiles her way. She was looking for a very special pair of dark eyes. She needed to see _him_. All this masquerade would have been for nothing if he had decided to not come. But then, what was Ino doing there? She hadn't been invited.

Sasuke must have been somewhere. And fair enough, as Gaara and herself climbed onto the small stage, she spotted him right in the third row. She could recognize those dark eyes anywhere. His hair was messy, his suit more than casual, unlike Gaara's.

Everything about the way his shirt was unbuttoned and his eyes were boringly looking at the stage spoke of utter arrogance. Hinata's throat went dry. She would throw it back at him. She would make him regret ever having dared come close to Ino (forgetting that it was Ino that had run after him and not the other way).

The curator threw a few more words out; Gaara nodded his head here and there. No one was expecting for him to say anything anyways.

And under the enthusiastic eyes of Gaara's acquaintances (Hinata was too dumb to know that those were the most important people of the Industry, but she did recognize the faces of a few up-and-coming photographers), the purple velvet curtain behind them was pulled aside, revealing Hinata's vengeance.

And the room went quiet. They could have heard a fly buzzing around. People didn't know what to say, whether to clap or to run for the exit at the cataclysm that was sure come. But hey, you don't know the fashionistas if you expect them to leave behind this chance to see Sasuke Uchiha get into Gaara's face.

What the curtains had revealed was nothing but another photograph by Gaara. The masterpiece. The thing is, that masterpiece had already been published on the cover of _Vogue_ maybe eight months ago. And Gaara hadn't been the one to take it. And the model surely wasn't the same.

In fact, there were three photographs. Two smaller ones flanking the very shocking one. And all three of them presented the same scene. On the left, a black-and-white of a turtle-neck clad, fair-haired girl. On the right, the cover of _Vogue_, with what seemed to be the same model.

But Gaara's take was even more powerful than the _Vogue_ cover. Hinata, her hair puffed and covered in what seemed to be small purple _Swarovski_ crystals, was looking down on the assembly from between her long, thick black lashes. Her chin was tilted up, her palms down and pressed against her neck.

What truly was poignant were the pale eyes that looked like pearls under the darkness of her brows and lashes. The crystals gave her mane a wet appearance and the small blue pearls that had been glued under her eyes and on her cheekbones made one think of tears. And it matched her expression perfectly.

Even if her chin was raised and her pulp lips parted in what could have been mistaken for arrogance, she looked like she was trying to take a desperate breath underwater. That one picture was her life story in one shot. The overall photograph was an expression of hatred towards Uchiha Sasuke. The pose was what was left of her love for Ino. And the water, her meeting Gaara.

"Hell yeah, Gaara!"

As that one scream reverberated throughout the gallery and was followed by a strong clapping sound, the magic was broken and many other hands joined in.

Well, Kankuro might have been a rude rocker that shoved his fingers into pastry and then licked them to determine which he liked better, but his enthusiasm for art was contagious.

As the curator clapped and nodded his head at them, Gaara dragged Hinata off the stage and into the crowd. However, before she had stepped down, to her outmost enjoyment, delight, contentment, she had seen Uchiha Sasuke's face.

To all that had turned their eyes to him to gauge his reaction, he had remained expressionless. But Hinata had seen the flash in his onyx eyes, the tug at the corner of his lip and the spasm that had travelled his cheek.

"Gaara, Gaara. You do not know all the trouble you are causing with your art."

"It is not nice of you to make Uchiha cry that way."

"Can you imagine _Vogue_ going crazy?"

"You will surely get a _cease and desist_ for that. However, thank God we were present at the viewing, it was worth it."

People were gushing at him, sending nice words at Hinata as well.

"Darling, you are a real revelation. What agency are you at?"

"_Ford_ or _Elite_, surely?"

"Have we seen you at a _Fashion Week_ by any chance?"

"Love, it is a shame no one of _Swarovski_ is present, they would have fawned over that picture like crazy."

She didn't have the time to answer one compliment and Gaara didn't go through the trouble of replying at all. His eyes were fixed on Hinata's as she searched for Sasuke in the crowd, having fully forgotten the presence of Ino or Kurenai.

However, at a good distance, Ino was standing and staring at the picture. There were the two pictures of her, exhibited along Hinata's. Like a mean of comparison surely. Revenge. Hinata had wanted revenge. So she had said.

Ino had not paid much attention to the words at the moment. But now she saw. Hinata had wanted to humiliate her. And rage washed over Ino. Rage at herself, rage at Hinata. Rage at the Industry.

Three things had been proven by this little exhibit. One, Hinata was a much more poignant model Ino could ever imagine herself to become. Two, Sasuke, and by extension Ino, had stolen Hinata's work. Three, Ino lacked originality.

Four could be that Gaara was a better photographer than Sasuke, however that did not concern Ino.

And strangely enough, Ino did not feel enough strength to go ad punch Hinata in the face for a second time, even if the temptation was strong. She just felt so tired. So tired that she could cry.

Turning around, she headed for the exit before someone realized that she was the one on the photographs.

Kurenai did the same. And they met at the exit. As they turned their heads to meet each other's eye, they knew they should have said something. But they didn't. They simply stepped outside and called a taxi each.

Two women that had nothing in common but Hinata stood beside each other, waiting for something to happen. One was livid with rage, the other pale with worry. While the party kept on going inside the gallery.

As Gaara kept on shaking hands and Hinata continued being pretty and smiling abundantly (and fakely), someone made his way into the crowd to aloofly stand in front of them.

The way his shoulders were slumped and his hands hidden in his pockets, one would have taken him for the image of indifference.

But both Hinata and Gaara knew better. Sasuke's eyes were flashing red as he stared right at Gaara, deliberately ignoring Hinata.

"You'll hear of my lawyer."

"It will be our pleasure, Mr. Uchiha, to hear of you. However, could we know the subject of your discontent? Just for the sake of being prepared."

Hinata jumped and turned her head to see a tall, thin, middle-aged man standing behind her and addressing Sasuke as if he were some type of disagreeable disturbance.

Baki, Gaara's lawyer. She had had the chance to meet him on a few occasions. He did not appear to appreciate her very much and hence why she always closed herself up in her room as soon as he made his way into Gaara's office. But not before serving him some coffee and sweets and exchanging ridiculous pleasantries with him.

He was very particular about respect and the likes, even if he held her in great contempt. Something about her being a gold-digger most probably. That was what worried the lawyers of the rich and mighty the most, right?

"If it is about exhibiting your photograph, I'll compensate for it."

Gaara had never put so many words one after the other. Hinata was not the only one to have her jaw drop.

"Plagiarism" Sasuke answered coldly.

And not knowing what had come over her, Hinata opened her pulp lips and let her shaky voice take over.

"I g-gave him the p-permission."

Sasuke's head snapped to the side and his dark, irate eyes locked with hers. The model. He had never seen her, he had never fucked her, he had no idea who the hell she was.

But the fact she gave herself the right to permit that motherfucker Gaara to use Sasuke's art made him want to break something of hers. A fucking arm, or a leg, maybe?

Who the fuck was she?! A blurry memory came to his mind. Those pale eyes, the spoke to him. Did he ever meet someone with such eyes? He could not pinpoint it exactly, but he had the strange impression the two of them knew each other.

"Maybe Mr. Uchiha would give himself the trouble to read the caption under the shot to the left of the offending photograph."

An unknown face chose that moment to push into their little crowd, standing by Sasuke and offering her hand to Hinata.

Deep, mischievous brown eyes, a soft, yet playful smile, and a strong, straight nose Hinata knew by heart.

"Hinata Yamanaka. Very pleased to meet you, my name is Hana Inuzuka. Very interesting photograph you took there. It is of your wife, Ino Yamanaka, right? I have had the pleasure of working with her a while ago."

Kiba. Immediately grabbing onto the proffered hand, Hinata shook it energetically to everyone's surprise. She had quite some energy, that mousy little lady. Shooting a panicked glance to Gaara, then Sasuke, then Gaara again, she let a stream of words escape her.

"Hana Inuzuka, of course. Thank you very much for having taken care of Ino. I hope she hasn't been troublesome. I am very pleased to meet you."

Giggling, Hana left that strange little thing shake her hand frenetically. Well, what do you know, when she speaks fast, Hinata doesn't stutter. Not that it makes her more understandable.

"You should call me sometimes. Gaara has my number. _Feral_ is always looking for talented photographers … and models."

Ok, Gaara had fucking enough of all this. They all wanted a piece of Hinata. And he was not willing to share. If there was one thing Gaara never fucking did, it was share.

Snaking an arm around her waist (normally Hinata would have fainted at the very idea of contact, but she as too buzzed to even realize that she had declared war on Uchiha Sasuke), he veered her away from the mass of people.

Temari came up to Hana, her fifth flute of Champaign dangling between her fingers (she had decided to go easy on the alcohol). Softly placing her head on Hana's shoulder, she let a sigh escape.

Hana simply lowered her cheek on top of Temari's hair.

"I don't like this, Hana. Gaara shouldn't get attached to the likes of her."

"You are too possessive towards your brother, Mari. You need to learn to let go."

"Yeah, like fucking letting go of my fiancée, how about that?"

Kankuro shot a threatening glare at Temari that simply dismissed him with a glance. The two of them had always had a very competitive relationship. Even if they weren't even siblings, so to say.

"Hana, come home with me. I feel lonely these days. And scared."

Kankuro growled. He hated Temari getting between him and Hana. However, he was the one that had gotten between Hana and Temari in the first place, only for the shits of it. And he had ended up addicted to that atomic bomb that Hana Inuzuka was.

As Temari shot him a triumphant smirk, he just felt like grabbing her by the hair and punching her. But it wouldn't get him anywhere. Hana did everything she could to make it easier for Temari. She felt responsible of her for whatever dumb reason.

And it made Kankuro honestly doubt whether he wanted to tie his dick for eternity to Hana. He felt like her pussy was already tied to Temari's. And the image he got playing in his head was too hot for his liking.

He needed a freaking Scotch on the rocks, not some goddamn faggot Champaign.

**x.x.x**

Gaara was not in a good mood, Hinata knew. But, he wasn't exactly in a bad one either. Maybe he would only slap her instead of beating the shit out of her when they got back home.

It was strange for her to consider Gaara's house as home. But that was the only home she had left.

'_Hinata, I can help you. Please. Let me help you._'

No one could help Hinata. She had gotten her revenge. The Industry would only speak of Sasuke's photograph, of _Vogue_'s cover. She had taken back what was her own. She had punished him for having taken Ino away.

Gaara had made it possible by agreeing to take her in. Not many people would have let a Hinata clad in rubber-ducky pajamas with her face lacerated enter their cars, let alone their houses.

He had taken her to the best dermatologist, paid her excellent hairstylists, make-up artists. Gaara had made a model out of her. And he had taken that photograph, as was their agreement.

It had been the deal they had struck. He took that one picture and she would model for him forever (or at least, until he got sick of her), provided he found her lodging. She had promised and she would uphold her promise.

Staring at Gaara's blanching knuckles on the steering wheel of his _Bentley_, she knew he was doing his best to control an impulse. But it didn't matter anymore. She had truly never cared about Gaara. The only thing that had mattered had been the private viewing and Sasuke's presence.

For the last six months, she had been obsessing over Uchiha Sasuke. It felt very intimate. Much more intimate than what Gaara and she had going on. But, Gaara was beautiful. Turning her head to look at him, she couldn't lie to herself.

Gaara was stunning, simply gorgeous. And very much like a blazing fire. She wanted him to hit her; he was just as disgusting as she was, he'd proven so on more than one occasion. Just more beautiful.

Strangely, she hated him for it. He felt no pain bestowing pain on others. Shame and guilt were two concepts that were completely unknown to him and that didn't plague his conscious.

As he pulled into his garage, she stepped out of the car, not waiting for him to lead the way into the house. She had the keys and the place had become hers, since she used more rooms than just the basement and an office. He was a stranger in his own house.

Dragging her tired feet into the living room, she planned very much to sprawl onto the couch until Gaara came to give her a spanking. But the eerie light seeping through the French doors leading to the veranda made her heart skip a beat.

If there was one thing she had never gotten accustomed to, it would be those lights. They played shadow games on those pictures that covered the walls and made them look distorted and unnerving.

Walking towards the doors, she threw a glance outside. Everything was unperturbed, calm and strangely welcoming in its coldness. Everything about the house, about its pure, edgy structure was freezing Hinata to the bones. And she liked it. Its impersonality felt comforting.

Gaara stepped inside the living room, quite set on going directly to the basement and potentially shoving his head into a bucket of acid. He had a horrid migraine and the voice in his head just wouldn't shut up.

However, Uchiha's face as he'd seen the photograph had been priceless.

Had Gaara been able to laugh, he most probably would have done so wholeheartedly. He owed his little pet for the entertainment. Why Hinata hated Sasuke was none of his business. It most probably had to do with her wife working for him; Gaara didn't care.

He was happy (he would have been had he had any idea what happiness was) he had that bitch out of his way.

Ino Yamanaka would have been a horrid hindrance. And he was quite content with not needing to destroy her career to get her away from Hinata. He was not vindictive by nature. Yeah, right.

Raising his head as he rubbed his temple, Gaara froze. On the other side of the living room, her body leaning into the French doors, was a beautiful spectre of a woman.

Slowly turning her head to look at him, her eyes were lighted from the inside, undulating shadows playing on her pale skin.

It reminded him of the big photograph in her bedroom. Hinata was like water. Whenever he grabbed onto her, she slipped between his fingers and seemed to want to run away. This evening had truly proven him how she could easily disappear if he did not pay attention.

And she was always dancing, even when not moving. Each one of her breaths, the way her eyelashes opened like fans after each blink and the quiver of her nostrils, everything was part of a very deliberate dance.

Possessiveness, not desire, cursed through his veins. Hot, painful, smothering. She would get away, the voice was right. Eventually, even if they had a deal, she would get away. And the photographs would not be enough to keep him company.

The air around her got thick. Fright pulsed in her throat. And yet, the fire in his aquamarine eyes attracted her, like light attracted butterflies. She wanted to flutter towards him, she realized.

She wanted to _satisfy_ him. That imperious need she had to submit was back. Only Gaara was able to elicit such overwhelming feelings in her. He made her feel painfully alive, when she only wanted to be cold.

Hinata loved his hands on her. Maybe the only part of Gaara she truly cared about. She didn't mind when he strangulated her, when he beat her black and blue. She was not good enough for anything else.

But the way his eyes undressed her and possessed her, she felt herself wanting more. She craved his touch.

Sasuke and Ino's eyes flashed in front of her for a split of an instant. Hinata had broken Ino unwillingly, had tried to harm Sasuke more than willingly. But she knew no one could ever touch Gaara's eyes.

Because, his eyes were like hers. Deep and filled with sin.

For the first time in six months, he felt her responding. The cock-blocking routine she had had going on crumbled. And the gentleman in him got thrown through the window.

As she turned around and pressed her back to the windows of the French doors, he let his eyes predatorily trace every curve and edge of her body. Her skin was milky, soft and only blemished by the marks he left on her. He wanted to mark her soul now.

Stalking up to her like a panther, he felt her quiver for him. Without even noticing, her whole being responded to his presence. He hadn't even reached her before a moan reverberated through her throat. An invitation he was more than willing to accept.

She was famished. And that carnivorous smirk Hinata had only seen once on his depraved mouth made the temperature in the room soar, however she knew that her skin was paler than it had ever been.

His body was only inches away from hers and fright hit her like a freight-train. Yet, she did not try to step back or huddle up against the door; on the contrary the fright was almost propelling her against his chest.

Gaara reached out and sneaked an arm around her waist. Brutally, impatiently, he yanked her towards him, pulling her flush against his body. Hinata gave in without a struggle.

As he grabbed the nape of her neck, his mouth found hers. Trying desperately to gasp for air, Hinata gave Gaara the opening he wanted.

Sliding his tongue in, he was quite aware that he was dominating her and trying to submit her to his need, taking control of her body. And she was oh so willing.

Moving his hips flush against her, the hard ridge of his erection dug into her and instead of stiffening further, her whole body uncoiled. Her head felt heavy and she let it fall, offering him her throat.

Gaara's tongue did not feel deprived as it went down on the delicate skin of that palpitating, pale throat. Hinata tasted like honey and made him wonder whether he did not have to revise his repulsion for sweets.

Even if they were more or less the same height, Gaara had no problems to gather her up and take her down on the floor.

His mouth trailed down her neck to ever so lightly nib on her exposed collarbone. She had expected for him to bite her violently, and here he was alternating between tongue and teeth, leaving ephemeral red marks on her translucent skin.

She would have wanted to look at him, yet strength had left her. She could only throw her head back as his hand found her breast. Gaara's hand purposefully pressed against it and elicited a second moan from Hinata. Actually no, that was more like a growl.

Raising his head, he looked at her scrunched eyes and the way she panted for more. Her pleasure was his. The cruel smile on his lips stretched.

Gaara leaving her breast for an instant, she felt the fabric of the dress being torn from her skin. A perfectly good _Oscar de la Renta_ was being destroyed. And she wanted more.

Politeness was out of question, as Gaara ripped of the shit he had tied around his neck. Hinata, noticing she was left unattended, rose on her elbows to throw Gaara a heated look. Well, what do you know, all her strength was back.

Fuck innocence, shyness and all that bullshit. Hinata would have all the time she wanted to be flustered and embarrassed tomorrow morning when all the crap sank in.

Now, the only thing she wanted was to be fucked by Gaara.

Grabbing onto the lapels of his shirt, she heard the buttons flying around. She wasn't able to open it up completely however and Gaara took care of the rest as her hands slid down his pectorals. She hadn't even noticed she had sat up.

While Gaara pushed her back down, a pout formed on her lips. She wanted to touch more. However, all her wants were forgotten as he went back down with her and yanked the cups of her black bra under her breasts.

The cold air of the room hit her flesh, making her nipples harden instantly. But she didn't have the time to take in the feeling, as Gaara latched onto one instantly, pulling, sucking, licking, while the other was attended by his scorching hand.

Her immediate response was to arch her back and whimper. He was putting her through torture and she almost begged.

Passing her hands into his hair to bring him closer, Hinata realized how soft his locks were in fact. They felt like silk under her fingers.

His free hand travelled past her hip and took hold of her thigh, lifting it so it rested on the small of his back. The position made things so much easier, he had to admit. Sweeping his hand up the creamy, white skin, he reached the spot of interest.

With no preamble, his palm cupped her sex and she orgasmed right away. A dark chuckle vibrated against her left breast.

She had sent him mixed signals for over six months and here she was, coming as soon as he touched her. There was something to be said about the cock-blocking variant.

As she shook, he slipped a finger under the flimsy fabric of her panties and tore them off. What was it with Gaara destroying her clothes this evening? She could burn the matching _LaPerla_ bra now.

Moving upwards, he retook control of her mouth and she didn't complain. His hand however, remained between her legs, helping her ride through the release and stimulating a new one.

Her own hands shot out and grabbed onto his muscular shoulders, her nails sinking into the flesh. She let them travel down, trace the outline of his pectorals, streak over his ribs.

His muscles clenched and she realized that someone must have carved him into perfection. He hadn't only been created, he had been _designed_.

Her philosophical side would have wanted to expand. But rational thought was not on the menu tonight.

Especially as he started to grind his erection against her, the fabric of his pants irritating and enticing her. His hand curled over her hip and he brought her against him. He could not contain a hiss and she could not fight against the way her lower body arched right into him.

She wanted more and the way her hands clawed down his back informed him of her needs. And he was more than willing to comply.

Back to his clothes. Her mind was too hazed to realize what he was doing, but she did hear a faint clunking sound. The belt. And the something being zipped down. The zipper obviously. Adrenaline cursed through her system.

With Gaara poised to enter her, he swept his arm under her shoulders and brought her up to him, her face close to his, his deep aquamarine eyes promising her one hell of a ride. And then he surged forward, filling her.

She cried. Pain lanced through her. It had been too long and he wasn't exactly what could be called small. His eyes widened ever so slightly and bore deeply into hers with something akin to alarm. She couldn't be …

Turning her head away, a blush crept up her body and colored her to the root of her hair. Even if she was, it was too late to regret. And she did not seem to want to stop by the way hand hands trailed down his back and buried themselves under the loose seat of his pants.

Carefully and delicately (the first time of his life he was delicate with anyone), he moved inside of her. Slowly, deliberately. The electric shock of pleasure that cursed through Hinata brought back the fire. The stretching, the filling, it felt glorious, in a very immoral way. He was driving her crazy.

He let her adjust until her hands on him loosened and the crease in her brow disappeared. The friction increased; her eyes shot open in pleasure and she beheld Gaara in all his beauty.

His taut body thrust inside of her with such animalistic urgency and at the sight of him, she felt a new crest start building up inside of her, coiling in the pit of her stomach.

Gaara's hands went for her hips, digging into the flesh, maintaining her in place as their two bodies collided frenetically. He was fucking her raw.

There was nothing polite or careful left inside of him and Hinata didn't want it any other way. Gaara was hard, fast, brutal and made her scream into the night.

She could scream the place down; no one would hear her anyways.

His head dropped into the crook of her neck, the silky red locks caressing her chin. He did his best to keep it together and that knowledge only sent a stronger feeling of pleasure pulsing through Hinata. It made her feel more liberated, more willing to welcome him.

They were all about the more. Faster, deeper, harder. A tempest of sensations swept over them.

Until Hinata came in a violent burst. In fact, she was surprised she hadn't been snapped in two. Her eyes clamped shut to the point she saw stars. The pulses contracting her muscles shook her wildly.

He followed immediately. And this Gaara, teeth bared, head back, chest straining, was one she would never forget, she knew. A spasm travelled through him, as he stabbed and kicked inside of her, and she firmly clenched around him.

Have you ever wondered how many people in the world had an orgasm at the same time as you?

Well, Hinata surely wasn't thinking about that type of shit. She was struggling to regain control over her breathing and fighting against that roar in her ears.

Gaara's eyes turned towards her and as they locked with hers, she felt something akin to terror raise in her chest again. He was so beautiful.

So sinfully beautiful. And very dangerous.

…

**A/N**

**If it interests anyone, I have written the equivalent of 196 pages, Word Times New Roman 12, in a little more than one month. That's how much your reviews, PMs and all your affection towards The Glam Show inspire me. Guys, I'll miss you and hope to see you again in 4 months. **

**I will be answering my PMs though, just saying!**


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